


The Prodigal Son

by LinneaKou



Series: The Night Has A Thousand Eyes [2]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fusion, Batman AU, Canon-Typical Violence, Flashbacks, Gen, Gotham AU, Gotham City Police Department, Grief/Mourning, Non-Graphic Violence, Origin Story, Original Character Death(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-05
Updated: 2017-04-01
Packaged: 2018-09-28 09:03:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 24,323
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10083626
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LinneaKou/pseuds/LinneaKou
Summary: Home is where you return to.Viktor Nikiforov left Gotham ten years ago. Now that he's back, things are going to change.





	1. The Return

**Author's Note:**

  * For [crowtective](https://archiveofourown.org/users/crowtective/gifts).



“Hold still.”

Yakov’s hands were brisk and tugged sharply on the bowtie, as if the man was fighting the cloth into properly forming into a prim bow. He grimaced and made a frustrated noise. “Vitya, hold _still_. I know I’m not as gentle as--”

Viktor Nikiforov’s face went carefully blank as his family’s butler cut himself off, and hoped Yakov didn’t notice how stiff his shoulders had gone.

Of course, Yakov noticed everything. “Viktor,” he sighed, “my boy, if you want this to turn out properly, you must let me fix it. Please.”

Viktor swallowed and nodded shortly. “Do your best,” he said once he had his voice back.

His mother had never had to work as hard as anyone else to get a bowtie done properly. She had never revealed the secret behind it, no matter how hard Viktor or his father tried to convince her to.

Yakov finally stepped back, his work done, and looked Viktor in the eye. “I’m sorry, Vitya.”

Viktor plastered a perfectly neutral smile on his face. “Don’t worry, Yakov. You did fine.”

Yakov clapped him on the shoulder, and both men turned at the tapping on the door. On the bed, the snoozing poodle perked up an ear as  Lilia pushed it open. Internally Viktor had to marvel at how perfectly composed the woman always was; not even a hair was out of place. “The first guests have begun to arrive.”

“Where is Yura?” Yakov asked as Viktor went for his jacket, tossed over the edge of the bed. He gave Makkachin a scratch on the head, and the poodle nosed at his palm before flopping back down to continue napping.

Lilia merely raised an eyebrow, and Yakov grumbled, rubbing at the crown of his head.

“Let him be for a bit,” Viktor said, slipping the jacket on. The tux was uncomfortably stiff, but fit like a glove. “I can’t imagine he’ll have much fun at this party.”

“It can’t be healthy for a young boy to spend so much time in a dank old cave,” Yakov retorted.

Viktor smirked, a sharp little thing, and sidestepped Lilia to disappear out into the hallway.

Yakov and Lilia exchanged tense, worried expressions, and then followed the heir to the Nikiforov fortune out of the private wing of the family manor as the chatter of newcomers began to echo through the empty corridors.

 

[ _one month earlier_ ]

 

“I haven’t opened this room in… years,” Yakov said, his hand on the doorknob. “But we really ought to air this one out.”

Viktor, in a rare moment of vulnerability, allowed his face to crumple. “I understand.”

Both men stood in silence for a moment, then Yakov sighed and pushed the door open.

The first thing that greeted them was sunlight. Lots of it. It appeared that Lilia had seen to it to either keep the room up herself or had known - in that way that she always knew everything - that Viktor would be taking it when he returned home. The room was pristine. Spotless. Impersonal; Viktor was grateful for that. Any vestiges of his late parents had been carefully removed and stowed away, leaving the master bedroom almost clinically clean. Like a hotel room.

“Ah,” Yakov said, his voice betraying no emotion. “It appears my ex-wife beat me to the punch.”

“God bless that woman,” Viktor agreed fervently. There was a furry blur that knocked him to the side, and then Makkachin had hopped up onto the bed and was curling up, tucking his tail under his nose.

Yakov laughed at that. “Well, looks like we have approval.” He dropped the duffel bag slung over his shoulder next to the full-body mirror, and Viktor followed suit with his boxes.

It took the better part of the afternoon for them to move Viktor’s personal effects - of which there were few - into the various storage spaces. Clothes - costumes, really - went into the antique armoire that his father had found in an estate sale before Viktor was born. Books from his travels filled the shelves. Knick-knacks and tchotchkes dotted the spaces where there was too much emptiness.

Viktor hesitated when he got to the collection of photographs, still needing frames. The manor didn’t want for any, but he decided to work on that later. The photographs went into a neat pile on his dresser, and he went back to unwrapping various knives and daggers that he’d gathered over the years.

“Those are entirely too plentiful,” Yakov said, eying the collection of weapons. “And they are _not_ all staying in here.”

“I figured,” Viktor answered. “I’ll put some of them in the cave when we’ve got it cleaned up.”

Yakov made a face at him. “I still don’t see why you want that dank old hole cleaned out.”

“Because it’s perfect, and the manor’s basement is filled with wine.” Viktor unsheathed a ceremonial dagger from Turkey and admired the etchings on the blade. “Besides, every superhero needs a secret headquarters.”

Yakov rolled his eyes skyward. “Vitya, again with this superhero nonsense--”

“It’s not nonsense,” Viktor sing-songed. “Especially if I manage to get my hands on all the fun toys I’ve got in my head.”

Yakov shook his head and went back to unpacking Viktor’s greatcoats. “Some days, I don’t think you ever truly grew out of that phase.”

Viktor decided not to tell Yakov about the carefully-preserved poster of _The Gray Ghost_ sitting in his luggage.

 

Lilia dropped the pile of papers onto the desk in front of Viktor and merely looked at him while he blinked up at her.

“What’s all of this?” he asked, eying the mess of dotted lines and fine print.

“Legal things,” she answered briskly.

“I thought I just needed to get fingerprinted.”

“Among other things.”

Viktor groaned and dropped his head onto the desk. “I don’t want to deal with all of this.”

“That’s too bad,” Lilia replied, unsympathetic. “You’ve been presumed dead for years, Viktor. You didn’t think you could just waltz back into your parents’ home and have everything start back up?”

“I didn’t think that, no,” Viktor admitted. “But this has to be an inch high!”

“There is more,” Lilia informed him, and she was _definitely_ amused. “And of course you have to appear in court. I’ve already set it up, I just need some signatures and consent. We have to get your identifications updated, and you need a license if you want to drive that ridiculous car of yours. Did you keep up your passport?”

“Mostly.”

Lilia narrowed her eyes at him. “Then how did you get back into the country?”

Viktor carefully avoided her gaze and didn’t answer.

The older woman sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose. “Viktor, please tell me that any illegal activity you might have done--”

“The extent of it was entering through Canada,” Viktor said, very quietly. He shrank in Lilia’s glare. “I didn’t want to deal with customs.”

“Well, we haven’t had ICE agents breaking down our doors,” Lilia said, resigned. “I suppose I can let it pass.”

“You know, rich people tend to get away with these kinds of things,” Viktor pointed out. “I can be an eccentric billionaire and no one will question it. Especially not the American government.”

“Disgusting,” Lilia answered, wrinkling her nose. “I realize you must play the part in order to escape suspicion, but do not lower yourself down to their level. Your parents would be disappointed.”

Viktor nodded. He pulled the stack of papers towards him and winced at the lines upon lines of legalese. The business of un-un-personing himself was complicated and needlessly long-winded. “I have to read through all of this?”

“Unless you had something better to do?”

Viktor cast a look longingly at the specs he had been reviewing before Lilia had walked in, and shook his head. “It can wait, I guess.”

“Good.” Lilia turned on her heel and strode out, the keyring at her hip jangling as she walked.

 

Making headway through the legal processes to officially prove his identity turned out to be easier than he’d originally feared. Lilia had gotten the entire thing started before Yakov had even picked him up in Wisconsin, so Viktor had to only skim most of the pile and sign where indicated. A court date had indeed already been set up so he could get fingerprinted and confirmed, and obtaining legal identifications would be a simple stop at the DMV. Viktor had kept up with driving while overseas, and while the Russian roads were… significantly more dangerous than the American ones (he’d never forget the time he nearly ran into a compact car that jumped the median and almost collided with him head-on on a major highway) he was certain that he could navigate Gotham’s roads with little fuss.

The manor was unnervingly silent when Viktor made his way to the dining room for supper. He glanced at the empty tablespaces as Yakov set down a bowl of lobster bisque and a crusty roll in front of him.

“It’s so close to Thanksgiving, yet it’s so warm,” Viktor mused, stirring his bisque. He looked out the window, at the unusually green grounds surrounding the manor. “Still no snow, huh?”

“And good riddance,” Yakov grumbled. “It’s a damn pain when the lake effect takes hold.”

“I like the snow,” Viktor said petulantly. “I was hoping for a white Christmas this year.”

Yakov shook his head. “This is the Midwest. You’re lucky it isn’t seventy degrees.”

Viktor frowned. “Has that happened?”

“I forget you haven’t been stateside all these years,” Yakov said, even though he winced as he did. “Yes, we’ve had a few unseasonably warm winters over the past few years. It usually makes up for itself around Valentine’s Day.”

“Yikes.”

“Remind me to tell you all about the Polar Vortex. You won’t like snow after that.” Yakov handed him his salad and disappeared into the kitchen.

Viktor made a face and pulled out his phone to Google “polar vortex”. He whistled when he saw the result. “Wow.”

“Indeed,” Lilia said as she entered the room, still dressed for work. She looked down the long dining table and frowned. “Why are you eating in here?”

“Breaking in the room,” Viktor answered, picking at his bread. He shrugged. “I don’t like it much.”

“Then pick up your plate and move into the kitchen, it’s where Yakov and I eat.”

That made sense. Viktor grabbed his dinner and followed Lilia down the hallway and through the pantry section into the kitchen, which was much cosier than the cavernous dining hall.

“Ah, so the traditional hall was too chilly for you?” Yakov asked, not even looking up as he ladled a serving of the bisque into a second and third bowl. To his left, Makkachin was noisily devouring a bowl of kibble. The poodle was already gaining weight at a rapid pace, which pleased Viktor immensely.

“Not as chilly as that polar vortex you mentioned,” he replied, setting down his dinner at the smaller table. “Negative twenty-five degrees?”

“Only outside of America, that is,” Lilia answered. “It’s Fahrenheit here, Vitya.”

“Right. So… negative seventeen.” Viktor gnawed on his spoon. “Wow.” That was still cold.

“Yeah, it was not a good year,” Yakov said, sliding a bowl to Lilia. “We were lucky, but the city was very unprepared to respond. That was the event that got Mayor Babicheva elected, after the last guy bungled the thing so badly that ten people died.”

Viktor was silent, but he quietly pushed his bowl away. “I’m happy she got in,” he said, instead of _I just lost my appetite_.

Lilia noticed and raised an eyebrow. Viktor gave the tiniest shake of the head, and she rolled her eyes at him.

“She’s had her work cut out for her,” Yakov agreed. “I don’t think she had that many gray hairs when she started.”

“Don’t tell her that, you idiot,” Lilia said, giving her ex-husband an incredulous look.

“I’m not-- I wasn’t going to! I don’t have a death wish--”

Viktor tuned them out, sinking deeper into his thoughts. Siberia had been bad, and honestly he’d expected that. But letting people freeze to death in Gotham… that seemed un-American. Well, _seemed_. It was entirely un-American.

“Who handled the heating dispersal for the city?” he said aloud.

“What?”

Yakov blinked at him. “Vitya, what are you thinking?”

Viktor shrugged. “I’m just wondering, since the last mayor let people freeze to death.”

“That wasn’t cause of death,” Lilia eyed him strangely. “There were a variety of reasons. Viktor, are you going to try and single-handedly solve every problem in this city?”

Viktor thought about it. “Could I try?”

“You could, but you’d probably fail.”

“Viktor, what’s going through your head?” Yakov demanded.

Viktor shrugged again.

“I’m still in charge of your estate,” Lilia reminded him. “And I do keep track of your family’s charities. Viktor, you are giving back to the community, you don’t need to assuage any guilt.”

“I’m not feeling guilty.” Viktor ran his fingers along the scarred surface of the table. “I just…” he looked up at the only two people who had seen him through the worst part of his life. He couldn’t put into words how sick he felt at the revelation of how badly the city had declined since he’d left. “This house is too big,” he said instead. “For just three people.”

“So get married,” Yakov muttered into his drink.

Viktor choked on spit and ducked to the side to cough, and Lilia whacked Yakov on the arm.

“Uh,” he managed to say, as soon as he’d cleared his airway. “No.”

“It’s an option,” Yakov insisted, trying to avoid getting hit by Lilia again. “There are options.”

Viktor buried his face in his hands. “Not for me, there aren’t.”

 

The next day dawned bright and sunny, and Viktor decided to head out onto the grounds and scout around for a decent entry/exit point for his… activities. With Makkachin bounding along at his side, he nearly tripped over the old grate on the outskirts of the property, near the woods.

The sound of running water caught his attention, and he followed his ears to the massive drainage pipe that let out into the lake. The caves were under his feet, he knew that intellectually, but when he stepped out onto the cliff’s edge and saw them for himself, they took his breath away.

“I always forget how beautiful the cliffs are,” he said later, showing the pictures to Yakov.

The old man smiled and nodded. “Indeed. But I do hope you don’t intend to launch a car from them.”

Viktor shook his head. “I’m thinking it should be easy enough to find another opening from the forest.”

“This manor used to be a stop on the Underground Railroad,” Yakov reminded him. “There’s more than just openings in the forest. We just need to find them.”

“How useful,” Viktor said cheerfully. He slipped his phone back into his pocket and he and Yakov turned the corner to the foyer, with the grand staircase.

Yakov frowned up at the massive chandelier. “I’m going to have to get that cleaned,” he said.

“Hire someone to do it,” Viktor replied. “We need to hunt for secret passages!”

“I’m too old for this,” Yakov grumbled. “You go hunt for your secret passages. I’ll join you once you’ve got the stairs put in.”

“It’s no fun to do this alone,” Viktor said as Yakov stepped out onto the staircase. “Yakov, I’m lonely! Yakov!”

“I already told you my advice for that,” Yakov threw over his shoulder. “I don’t need my ex-wife hitting me again.”

“You probably deserved it.”

“You were there!”

Viktor grinned at his family’s butler, but Yakov didn’t look back at him. So, Viktor turned on his heel and left to poke around in the upper floor rooms.

Around dinnertime, the silence was broken by the chiming of the front door. Yakov was busy in the kitchen, so Viktor got it himself.

“Oh my _god_!”

Viktor barely had a second to brace himself before a redheaded whirlwind launched itself at him, bowling him over.

“Ah!” Viktor managed, landing on his backside. He stared down at the teenage girl who had basically tackled him, bemused. “Hello there?”

“Viktor! My mom said you were back in town!” She looked up at him with sparkling blue eyes, mouth turned up in a huge, genuine grin.

Viktor blinked. “Mila?”

“Yes! I knew you’d recognize me!” She squeezed him tighter. “God, you got old!”

“Hey!”

“Well, you know what they say,” Mila sing-songed at him. “You’re only twenty-six, you’re not going downhill yet!”

Viktor frowned at that implication, but the goofy expression on Mila’s face cracked him up. “Don’t wound me, this is the first time I’ve seen you in a decade. Jesus, you grew up.”

“That’s what happens when puberty is a thing,” Mila informed him loftily.

Yakov had clearly known in advance that Mila was going to stop by - or maybe he and Lilia were secretly psychic, Viktor wasn’t willing to rule that out - because he was entirely unsurprised when Viktor brought her into the kitchen. He wasn’t as surprised at how much older she was, of course, seeing as he’d been around for her to grow up, why was Viktor thinking like that… but it was still a surprise to see him greet her so warmly. Well, warmly for Yakov. He handed her a plate of casserole and pointed her at a chair, and she took a seat next to Lilia without complaint.

“So my mom said you’re having a party on Christmas Eve,” Mila piped up after a bit, once everyone was settled and after she’d been introduced to Makkachin. Now, the poodle was sitting at her side, head rested on her knee and eyes pinned mournfully on her plate. Viktor had to fight a snort at that. “I actually know a few people that you should totally invite, the scene has changed a bit since you were gone.”

“Fresh blood,” Viktor commented, making a face. “Wonderful, I was looking forward to this.”

“They’re all nice,” Mila reassured him, flapping a hand. “Not everyone is as slimy as Marcus Grey.”

“Oh, god, is he still around?” Viktor stabbed his casserole with his fork. “I still remember the time he tried to hit on my mother right in front of me.”

“He’s still around, but he’s trying to rehabilitate his image,” Mila smirked. “His son took over the company, though. He’s awful, keeps getting robbed.”

“By who?” Lilia raised her eyebrows. “That Black Kat fellow?”

“Black cat? What?” Viktor looked between Yakov and the women. “Someone fill me in, I’m missing something.”

“There’s this cat burglar,” Mila said quickly. “This dude that calls himself Black Kat. He was riling up the mob recently, from what Chris told me.”

“Chris…?”

“You remember Christophe!” Mila widened her eyes at him. “Went into the police academy?”

“Christophe Giacometti?” Viktor laughed. “Oh, he’s on the force?”

“Detective! Has been for a few years. Gunning to be the youngest lieutenant since 1993.” Mila waggled her eyebrows. “He tells me about the stuff that I’m allowed to hear. So, I know quite a bit about the Black Kat. Spelled with a ‘k’, by the way. He’s specific about that.”

“This town is so strange,” Lilia muttered.

“So this burglar is messing with the mob?” Viktor made a face. “That sounds dangerous.”

“Totally, except he’s apparently really good at it.” Mila shrugged. “I think he managed to collectively con the Cobblepot and Falcone gangs out of close to three million dollars worth of contraband.”

“Should you be talking about this, young lady?” Yakov demanded.

Mila flinched. “You’re right, I’ll stop.”

“No, tell me more about this burglar and the Greys,” Viktor grinned. “He’s hit them multiple times?”

“Yeah, I think he’s playing a game with them.” Mila scooped up a bite of her salad. “Every time they get some new artwork or something, he snatches it up. They upgrade their security and he beats it. It’s kind of funny, actually. Also, I think that the Kat has a grudge against Grey, because he keeps making him lose his shit in public.”

“Amazing.” Viktor filed all of this new information away in the back of his mind. “Couldn’t happen to a nicer guy.”

“Oh god, he’s horrible. So’s his wife, too.” Mila rolled her eyes. “No one likes them, but they keep showing up. And their money still spends, so they keep getting invited to places.”

“Well, I hope I don’t incur this Black Kat’s wrath,” Viktor said, and Lilia and Yakov exchanged unreadable looks. Mila, thankfully didn’t notice; Makkachin apparently had decided that he had gone long enough without attention and attempted to climb into her lap. They ended up losing the remainder of their plates to madness that followed, and Mila stuck around to help them clean up before her mother rang her mobile to tell her to come home.

Viktor walked her to her car, parked at the roundabout part of the driveway. “It was good to see you again,” he told her, and she hugged him once more.

“Hey, there’s this gala going on, New Year’s Eve. I’ll see if I can get you invited, you can meet someone!”

Viktor raised an eyebrow. “Meet who?”

Mila giggled mischievously. “Someone you should meet.”

Viktor shook his head as she got into the little two-door sedan, still giggling. “You and Yakov need to stop conspiring behind my back,” he said. “Don’t think I didn’t notice he knew you were coming by.”

“Why, Viktor,” Mila said, fluttering her eyelashes. “I haven’t the foggiest idea what you’re talking about.” She pulled away, waving, and Viktor watched her taillights disappear down the drive before heading back inside.

 

It didn’t feel right.

He looked at his pale face in the full-length mirror, half-hidden by the fringe of silver-blond that fell in front of his eyes.

“You look more and more like your father every day,” Yakov had said at breakfast.

“But for the eyes,” Lilia had added.

Viktor hadn’t quite known how to respond to that, so he’d excused himself and retreated to his-- no, the master bedroom.

Makkachin nosed at his hand and whined, and Viktor glanced at him before stooping down and letting the dog crowd his way onto Viktor’s lap. “God, you’re getting big,” he grumbled, burying his nose in the thick curly fur on Makkachin’s head.

Makkachin licked his nose, and that made Viktor smile. “Maybe today will be a grooming day, what do you say?”

The poodle whined, and Viktor laughed. “You don’t want a lion cut? I guess that’s all right.”

He tried to stand up, but Makkachin continued to fuss; Viktor ended up with several armfuls of clingy poodle, which he shuffled over to the bed with.

Makkachin kept climbing back onto him, so Viktor ended up laying down and letting the poodle drape himself over Viktor’s chest. It was soothing, in a way. He closed his eyes as his hand worked its way through Makkachin’s fleece.

 

 _“What have you done?”_ _Yakov demands, standing in the bathroom doorway._

_Viktor says nothing, scissors clutched in one hand. “Get rid of it,” he eventually whispers. “I don’t want it.”_

_Yakov’s angry expression bleeds out, and he sighs heavily before sinking to his knees next to the shaking twelve-year-old as tears begin to drip down Viktor’s cheeks. “Vitya…”_

_“Please, Yakov,”_

_Yakov takes the scissors away, and drags the wastebasket out from under the sink. Viktor opens his hand and lets the handful of silver hair drop into it, feeling numb._

_“Let me,” Lilia says, and Yakov hands her the shears. She begins to carefully trim away the uneven ends, until it looks a little less messy._

_Viktor clutches onto Yakov’s hands, fighting to keep his chin from wobbling. Yakov is silent, but he doesn’t let go._

_“Here,” Lilia says, taking the hand mirror from its spot in the cabinet. “Does this work?”_

_It’s all wrong. The thick sheet of silky silver hair that Viktor has had for all of his life, gone. His head feels lighter, his neck feels empty. Lilia had cut away bangs for him, to see out from under. He sweeps them to the side._

_“You look just like your father,” Lilia says, squeezing his shoulder. “You’ll be his spitting image one day.”_

_Viktor breaks, and the mirror falls. Yakov catches it before it can shatter, and puts his arms around the boy before his knees can buckle._

_“I want them back,” Viktor sobs, and Yakov strokes his back, trying his best to comfort him. “I want them back.”_

_“We know you do, Vitya,” Yakov says gruffly. “We miss them too.”_

_The next day, Lilia asks Viktor if he wants to stay at the manor._

_“You want me to leave?!” he bursts out, frightened. “But-- what have I done--”_

_“Vitya,” Lilia says sharply, silencing him. “You’ve done nothing. But…” She closes her eyes, and her face looks so strained. “Once the next school year starts up, I think it may be best if you went away to school, instead of bringing back your tutors.”_

_Viktor’s speechless. Why? he wants to ask._

_“This place is too full of memories,” she goes on, looking up at the staircase and the grand foyer. “I think you need time away from here, so you can heal.”_

_“I don’t want to,” Viktor protests._

_“You don’t want to heal?” Lilia demands, crossing her arms. “You don’t want to continue your education and carry on your family’s legacy?”_

_Viktor has to look away. “I don’t want to leave,” he says._

_“You will come back,” Lilia reminds him. “This is your home. It is where you return to. And Yakov and I will be waiting for you.”_

_“Promise me that,” Viktor says, setting his jaw. “Promise me you won’t leave too!”_

_Lilia’s eyes soften at that. “Where would I go?” she asks. “And leave your father’s business to a bunch of idiotic apes who would drive it into the ground? You don’t think I’d do that. And Yakov would rather chain himself to that staircase than let anyone drag him away.”_

_“I still don’t want to leave,” Viktor says stubbornly._

_“Very well,” Lilia answers, in the same tone she had when Viktor had declared he wasn’t going to bed, or that he wasn’t going to eat his vegetables._

_She’s right, in the end. A few months of rattling around an empty house, and Viktor’s mood deteriorates. He begrudgingly allows Yakov to set up a transfer into a boarding school in the next town over, and the day that Yakov and Lilia drive him there, he sits silently in the backseat of his father’s town car, watching the manor shrink behind them._

 

_Home is where you return to._

 

“I’m home,” he whispered into the silence, as Makkachin snuffled sleepily on his chest. And for the first time in years, he felt it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's here! Whoo!
> 
> So first off, sorry for the slow start. This one is going to be longer than Yuuri's, but I hope I can make up for it with lots of character study!
> 
> Also, as you guys probably already know, but since this is a Batman AU, there's gonna be some violence. So the rating is definitely going to change and further warnings will be added in the tags. Just a heads-up!
> 
> And of course if you haven't already, [check out the Tumblr for this AU for updates, rants, and Nic's art!](http://yoibatmanau.tumblr.com)


	2. The Strays

[ _two months ago_ ]

Viktor could have killed for a coffee.

It wasn’t quite sunrise, and the streets of Montreal were still pretty quiet. He would have gone into one of the nearby fast food places to grab something warm and caffeinated, but he only had so much cash in his pocket and that needed to get him to the Canadian-Wisconsin border. So he stifled a yawn and chafed his hands again, wishing he had thought to bring more liquid assets.

In the street, a snow plow rumbled past, stirring up the slush of the previous day’s snowfall. The cold didn’t bother Viktor as much as it should have, thanks to the time he’d spent in Siberia and Mongolia, but he still wished he’d thought ahead enough to return in the autumn, at least. The warm respite would have been nice.

He was just passing by an alleyway filled with trash bins and other refuse when a sad, soggy-looking cardboard box let out a strange squeak.

Viktor froze, and the box made another high-pitched noise.

Frowning, he ducked into the alley and peered into the box, which seemed to be an empty Amazon package. It shuddered, and then a small, fluffy head poked out.

“Oh my God,” he breathed as the skinny, dirty puppy let out another small whine. “Oh my God, where’s your mother?”

The puppy yipped again, and stumbled out of the box, shivering. Viktor cooed and picked it up, and the puppy immediately settled in his arms, still shaking.

“You poor thing,” Viktor murmured, and he slipped off his scarf to swaddle the puppy in it. It wasn’t much, considering that the puppy had to be about six months old or so, but the little dog licked at his chin. “You’re welcome,” he said, scratching the pup’s scruff. “You’re so sweet, how come you don’t have a family?”

The dog whined, and Viktor felt his heart melt a little. “Well, I don’t have any family either,” he told the puppy. “We can stick together, huh?”

The dog licked his chin again, and Viktor smiled as he left the deserted alleyway behind.

 

[ _two weeks ago_ ]

Viktor hated to put Makkachin on a leash, but Gotham was such a bustling, messy city that even if the poodle stayed at his heel and obeyed him, there was still a chance that they could be separated. Makkachin hadn’t liked the harness at first, but he didn’t seem to mind anymore now that there were interesting things to smell.

Viktor was just glad he hadn’t had to wrestle anything gross away from his dog. You could never truly be too careful.

Lilia had finally informed him that his paperwork was mostly written up, and just needed to be processed. Yakov had kicked him out of the Manor, telling him to go walk the town. Viktor hadn’t really been in Gotham for real since well before he’d departed America ten years before.

There were a lot of things that hadn’t stayed, and that was no surprise. The nice cafe that his father had taken him to after Viktor had spent a workday following his father around the hospital and meeting the staff, that was gone. When he asked (and ignored the double-takes that people kept giving him) he was told that the owner had gotten sick and sold the business to pay for her medical bills. He made a mental note to check up on the woman later, and fought down relief at the fact that the building sat currently vacant.

He noted a few other things; while it had been many years since he’d seen Valentina Babicheva in person, he was still surprised to see her face as wan and tired as it was depicted in the newspapers. Several windows were plastered with posters that were clearly part of a smear campaign, and Viktor had to laugh at how absolutely pathetic the attempts on the mayor’s career were. Clearly, the work of corporate think tanks who had lost touch with the man on the street (he noted more than a few attempts to scrounge up some good ol’ Red Scare rhetoric) and a half-hearted effort to push a man that Viktor knew for a fact was entangled in Gotham’s crime outfit.

And it was times like these when Viktor really wished he could switch off his brain - all these years of living abroad, living on the street and among the “unwashed masses”, and he couldn’t help but see the world around him through a very specific lens. For instance, the businessman heading back to work from his lunch break had clearly just made a drug purchase; the beautiful woman passing him in the other direction was a high-class escort, judging by her shoes and lipstick; she was being eyed by several predatory men who most definitely were wiseguys under Falcone - they didn’t have the same rough edges that members of the Russian mob tended to have, and they were more familiar than what Viktor presumed gangsters working under the English-born Cobblepot would have been to him.

The woman under scrutiny was well aware of her watchers, judging by the straightness of her spine and her purposeful stride. Hopefully she knew what an asset stiletto heels could be - Viktor could attest to that himself, thanks to Talia.

The thought of Talia brought a wry smile to his lips, and he wondered once again how she had fared after they’d parted ways in Siberia. But it wasn’t like she had a mobile he could ring, so unless she decided to seek him out in Gotham, he’d never know.

He was tempted to swing by Nikiforov Enterprises, but Makkachin probably wouldn’t be allowed past the front door, and he wasn’t willing to leave the poodle tied to a bike rack like some kind of object, so he continued east instead of turning north towards the tower.

He tossed a few bills into the saxophone case of a busker passionately playing next to an entrance to an elevated train platform, and the man saluted him. Viktor nodded and smiled, and moved on.

It was so strange, having money to burn in his possession. He of course knew objectively that he couldn’t go around handing out his pocket change to every person with a sign or an instrument case that he came across. He’d have to get a few social programmes into place, and surely Lilia couldn’t mind if he took an interest in that. He knew what it was like to starve, he knew what it was like to sleep outdoors during the coldest nights of the year. It didn’t build character if one didn’t have an eventual end destination, and he’d been lucky. He had a warm house to return to. Few others in that predicament could say as much.

His thoughts were interrupted when he was bumped into by a middle-aged man with an indistinct face. He recognized a lift when he saw one, and caught the man’s wrist before it could slip into his coat pocket and remove his wallet.

“Now, now, that’s just rude,” he said in the man’s ear. “At least ask me to dinner first.”

The man grunted and pulled away, yanking his hand free, and Viktor watched him go with a neutral expression, shrugging off the odd looks from the bystanders. Makkachin whined and tugged at his lead, and Viktor set off again.

“You could call the cops,” a woman said as he passed her. He glanced over and quickly assessed her; mid-to-late forties, white upper-middle class, most likely executive sales manager or a similar rank. She most likely trusted the police to a healthy degree, and thought buskers and pickpockets weren’t working hard enough to get to her income level.

Viktor smiled, a benign and carefully calculated twitch of the mouth. “For what?”

The woman made a face and dismissed him, going on with her day.

Viktor sighed and scratched Makkachin on the head, before continuing on with his walk.

 

Yakov raised his eyebrows as Viktor let him into the cave, which he’d managed to clear out for the most part after three solid days of cleaning. He could have probably contracted someone to do it for him, but the point of a secret hideout was so that no one knew it was there. Lilia had agreed when he’d mused about it over breakfast.

“I have to say,” Yakov finally admitted, after examining Viktor’s work. “This is quite impressive.”

“I don’t need much space,” Viktor said offhandedly, scrubbing at his grimy hair with an equally grimy hand. “And the tunnels that lead out that way are big enough for a car if I get one custom-made.”

“I see.”

“Basically, I’m pretty sure I can get a decent computer setup and put in a security system by myself. All that needs to be done is the ‘finishing’,” Viktor ticked off his work on his fingers. “So sealing, putting in flooring and ceilings, some wiring, a lot of technical stuff…”

“And I believe Lilia may have some names for you,” Yakov said. “A few members of the research and development team for Nikiforov Enterprises might fit the bill for the technical aspects.”

“Excellent!” Viktor clapped, grinning widely. “Come take the grand tour!”

“If I fall and break my neck down here, I am going to spend my afterlife making your life a living hell,” Yakov grumbled, but he still followed Viktor down into the main catacombs.

The former Underground Railroad station was massive, despite Viktor’s earlier statement of not needing much space. It was segmented into several “rooms” and Viktor had already planned for each of them. He was itching to haul equipment down and start setting up, but he didn’t want to run the risk of letting the damp or the cold ruin anything. So, sealing and climate control was a priority.

“This can house the mainframe, which is going to run separately from the house,” Viktor was saying, gesturing at one of the chambers, and Yakov was nodding along, when Lilia’s voice echoed down into the cavern.

Yakov and Viktor exchanged surprised looks and made their way back up to the staircase.

“Ah, there you are,” Lilia said once they emerged in the wine cellar. She wrinkled her nose at them. “Ugh, Vitya, you’re filthy.”

“That’s what happens when you work all day,” Viktor replied easily. He feigned an attempt to peck Lilia on the cheek, and the woman stepped away from him with a grim expression.

“Don’t you dare. Yakov, you’re dusty as well. Both of you should bathe before dinner.” Lilia eyed her ex-husband with disapproval. “And Viktor, your court date is set for next week. Your DNA test has been submitted, and your fingerprints are being checked. We just need to present the evidence for your identity at court, and then you’re officially alive again.”

“Excellent news!” Viktor clapped in glee, releasing a cloud of dust. Lilia blanched as it settled on the ground.

“Go wash up,” she ordered, hurrying up the stairs as if to escape the dirt that the men had brought with them. “Go straight to the bathroom on the bottom floor and _do not_ walk through carpeted areas!”

“Of course, Lilia!” Viktor called, and he and Yakov continued to brush off dust as they closed up the secret entrance behind them and made their way upstairs after her.

 

“Holy shit!”

Viktor bit back a laugh as Chris’s eyes lit up once he caught sight of Viktor loitering by the front desk.

“Mila mentioned you were home, _holy shit_ ,” Chris said, coming around the desk and catching Viktor in an enthusiastic hug. “Welcome back, my man! I’ve missed you!”

Viktor returned the embrace, his smile genuine. “I missed everyone here, too. Damn, you’re already a detective? Rising in the ranks, huh?”

Chris laughed and brushed it off. “It comes from doing my damn job,” he said in an undertone, and Viktor snorted. “Mila’s mom has been adamant about the GPD standing for something, and that’s why she promoted Commissioner Leroy. It’s kind of nice to have someone in charge that actually wants things to go well.”

“I saw some of her opposition’s work,” Viktor commented, and Chris made a disgusted noise.

“Of course. It’s kind of hilarious, honestly. They try to drum up support at town halls and all that, but no one has died due to a preventable circumstance under Mayor Babicheva so the people love her.”

“No one?” Viktor asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Not like no one’s been killed in Gotham, man,” Chris said, escorting him back to his desk in the bullpen. “I think that the violence has been here so long, no one’s surprised that Val’s not able to wave a magic wand and make it all end. But she’s starting to see results, for sure.”

“Good.” For a second, there was tiny glimmer of hope that maybe, _maybe_ , he wouldn’t really be needed after all--

A shout from the front of the building caught both men’s attention, and a uniformed officer ducked around the front desk to pull apart two figures, one much smaller than the other.

“Shit,” Chris said, getting back up as well. “No, hang tight,” he said to Viktor, putting a hand on his shoulder to keep him seated. “What the hell is going on…?”

The sound of furious Russian curses echoed up from the chaos in front of the main entrance, and Viktor watched as the smaller figure - who he’d thought was a girl, but now realized was a long-haired teenage boy with an impressively nasty vocabulary - was dragged off of a man that Viktor suspected was an enforcer for the Russian mob. It was in the way the man dressed and held himself, plus the tattoos of someone who had served time in a Moscow prison.

Viktor watched with interest as the boy was pulled away and made several impressive attempts to escape, twisting with an acrobatic skill that spoke of gymnastics training, and continued to swipe at the mobster’s smug face all while insulting the man’s mother, grandmother, and entire lineage.

Chris caught the kid under the armpits and hauled him back, threatening in English to cuff him to a chair, and the kid bellowed one last curse before succumbing to captivity.

“Sorry about that,” Chris said to Viktor as he threw the kid into a nearby chair, giving him the “I’m watching you” glare. The teen merely crossed his arms and sneered. Chris groaned. “Dammit, Yuri, I thought you’d be smarter than this!”

The boy - Yuri - tossed his head, his cornsilk hair flying dramatically as he did. “I was smart,” he grumbled. “I didn’t bring a gun.”

Chris made an inhumanly distressed noise. “You wouldn’t dare.”

“Of course not, I couldn’t get ahold of one.” Yuri glared off to the side, clearly still sour about that. “No one would sell to me.”

“Because you’re _twelve_ ,” Chris snapped.

“I’m fourteen!” Yuri shouted, furious.

“And thank god for that! You want to end up in juvie? Or worse? You kill a man, you could go all the way to adult court!”

“Why would you want to kill that man?” Viktor finally spoke up.

Yuri glanced at him, like he’d only just realized Viktor was there. “He got my grandfather thrown in jail,” the boy growled. “Framed him for murder. My grandfather wouldn’t hurt a fly and now he’s sitting in Gotham supermax.”

Viktor blinked. “Jesus.”

“We can’t prove anything,” Chris admitted. “I for one do believe Yuri here, since we’ve been eyeing Fenhoff for a while on a bunch of crimes on the docks, but I think he might have help on the force.”

“Then you should fix that, shouldn’t you?” Yuri burst out, shaking with barely controlled anger. “Some police force you idiots are, throwing helpless old men in jail while murderers control the streets!”

Chris pinched the bridge of his nose. “Yuri--”

“What about your parents?” Viktor asked. “Does your family have legal counsel?” That would be easy enough to provide. Viktor already had several excellent lawyers in mind just in case.

“My parents are dead,” Yuri answered bluntly, and all the whirring in Viktor’s brain ground to a halt. “Grandpa is all I have.”

“Where have you been living?” Viktor demanded.

“We put him in a foster home,” Chris said, glaring at the teen. “DCFS placed him almost immediately.”

“Yeah, placed me in a complete shithole,” Yuri shot back. “The lady running it doesn’t even notice when I break out, there are so many kids.”

Chris sighed again. “Dammit, Yuri--”

“Well, hey,” Viktor shrugged. “I’ve got a big empty mansion that you could stay at while I set you up with a lawyer that doesn’t have a million other public court cases to worry about. What do you say?”

Chris and Yuri stared at him, stunned into silence. “You’d what?” Yuri asked, sounding a bit gobsmacked.

“Chris, how about it?” Viktor fluttered his eyelashes at the detective, who was still staring at him. “If Yuri here doesn’t want to stick around in an overcrowded foster home, he doesn’t have to. Right? He’s practically of age to be legally emancipated.”

“Yeah, and what kind of trouble would he get into then?” Chris finally said, eyeing the teen. He bit his lip, mulling it over, then shrugged. “I mean, it would be easy enough to arrange. I can put you in contact with DCFS and I’m sure they can get you going from there. But only if Yuri wants to.”

Yuri made an unreadable noise, looking from Chris to Viktor. “If I want to? If I want to--”

“You could come stay with me,” Viktor said kindly, like he was soothing a spooked animal. “I have a ton of empty bedrooms and absolutely no one to put in them. I kind of don’t have much in the way of family myself, so.” He shrugged. “Orphans ought to stick together.”

Yuri blinked. “Who are you?”

“You don’t recognize Viktor Nikiforov?” Chris asked, raising his eyebrows.

If Yuri had been drinking something, he’d’ve spat it out. “You?! _You’re--_ ”

Viktor laughed. “Yeah, so what do you say?”

Yuri gaped, opening and closing his mouth like a fish. After a couple false starts and attempts at human speech, he closed his eyes and nodded.

Viktor clapped gleefully. “Wonderful! Let’s get this squared away and you can come home with me tonight!”

“You’d better not be a creepy guy,” Yuri said, and Chris snorted.

“Trust me,” the detective said as he pulled up the number for DCFS in the police directory. “Viktor Nikiforov isn’t creepy at all.”

 

There were times when Viktor didn’t mind having an excess of money at his disposal. Using his wealth to cut through bureaucratic red tape was one of those instances, and he did so with glee as the overworked DCFS rep hurried to get Yuri processed for a guardianship change. He wasn’t able to officially become Yuri’s legal guardian, since he wasn’t un-un-personed yet, so about half an hour after the paperwork was started, a very grouchy Yakov showed up to sign the papers and assume the role.

“I can’t believe you,” Yakov muttered as he was handed Yuri’s file for his records. “What next? You want to start an orphanage?”

Viktor shrugged. “A halfway home would be nice.”

“I can’t believe you,” Yakov repeated, a pronounced tick in his forehead twitching.

“It’s not a bad thing,” Viktor answered, then turned to the newest member of their household with a big grin. “Welcome to the family, Yuri!”

“I’m not part of your family,” Yuri grumbled. “I’m just staying with you.”

“Too late. You’re one of us now.” Viktor patted the boy’s shoulder. “It’s not that bad. Yakov is a good cook, and Lilia is pretty cool once she warms up to you. Ooh, and I have a dog! His name is Makkachin, and he’s a poodle. He loves everyone, I’m pretty sure--”

Yuri cut him off. “Can I get my stuff?”

Yakov turned to Viktor with raised eyebrows. “Why don’t you handle that,” he said. “I have to finish with the caterers, and Lilia is still at the office.”

Viktor nodded, and Yakov donned his hat and departed.

“Right. Okay. My car’s in the garage, c’mon.” He herded Yuri out of the DCFS office, waving goodbye to the workers there.

“You know they’re going to blab to social media about this,” Yuri said, eyeing the office workers with distrust.

“I figured. No big deal, I can issue a gag order if you’d like.”

“I don’t care.”

“Cool.” Viktor kept his hand on Yuri’s shoulder as they walked, crossing the outdoor parking lot over to the multilevel garage. He was pleased when Yuri didn’t shrug off his hand, but merely went along with him.

“Hey,” Yuri said suddenly, as they found Viktor’s lowkey sedan on the third level. “Wait a second. If you’re still getting your identity confirmed, how can you have a license?”

“Uh. I don’t.” Viktor winced. “But I kept up driving overseas, so how bad could it be?”

Yuri stared at him, aghast, and crossed himself before climbing into the passenger’s seat.

 

Packing up Yuri’s things from the foster home took less than an hour, and once Viktor had set the last box full of (worrisomely) animal-printed clothes in his trunk, he glanced around for his new ward. “Yuri? Where’d you go?”

The woman running the home watched him from the porch with a blank expression that reminded Viktor too much of a shark, flicking out a cigarette before taking another drag.

“Is he inside saying his goodbyes?” Viktor asked her.

The woman shrugged. “Dunno. Don’t think so.”

“Did you see where he went?”

The woman shrugged again, and Viktor wondered at how anyone could possibly care so little about a fellow human being.

“I’ll go find him,” he said instead, and locked up his car before ducking into the backyard.

A few minutes of searching with no Yuri, and Viktor was starting to get nervous. “Hey,” he called. “C’mon, don’t tell me you went and ran away right as I got you out of here!”

There was a rustling noise, and then Yuri climbed out of a thicket of bushes clutching a bundle of cloth. “Be quiet,” he snapped, hefting his bundle so he could hold it more securely.

“Where did you go off to?” Viktor asked curiously. He reached over and flicked a fold of fabric over, and was mildly surprised to find a small, furry face staring back at him.

The cat sniffed at his hand as Yuri glared at him. “Her name is Princess and she’s coming with me,” he said, leaving no room for argument.

Viktor smiled softly at the teen. “No, no argument. Do you need supplies?”

Yuri nodded, cuddling the bundled cat closer to his chest.

“Very well. We can stop somewhere on the way back to the manor. Keep a good hold on her.”

“Drive carefully,” Yuri said. “Or else I’ll take the wheel.”

“Yeah, no.”

“I’m serious, I feared for my life on the way over here. Where’d you learn how to drive?”

“St. Petersburg,” Viktor answered airily, and Yuri shuddered. “What?”

“Were you one of those shitty Russian drivers that had to install dashcams?”

“I’d like to think not.” Viktor grinned to himself as Yuri shuddered again, carefully getting into the backseat with his cat. “But then again, defensive driving is the way of the road.”

“Oh god.”

 

Makkachin was enchanted by the newest additions to the house, and Princess gave him a few cursory sniffs before jumping onto an overstuffed chair and curling up for a nap. Viktor had gotten her groomed before they’d left the pet store, and they had been pleasantly surprised to find a beautifully healthy seal point coat under all of the grime.

“That old hag wouldn’t let me bring her inside,” Yuri had said, as they watched the groomer wash the dirt off of the cat.

“Well, I’d think there might be allergy concerns.”

“Still. She could have just stayed with me, I would have--”

“Hey,” Viktor said, cutting him off. “It’s no big deal. None of us are allergic, so she can have free reign of the house. I’ll make sure she has a place to go where Makkachin can’t follow.”

Yuri looked at him, and Viktor caught a glimmer of stubborn suspicion. “Why are you being so nice?” he finally demanded. “No one is this nice for no reason.”

Viktor shrugged. “I know what it’s like.”

“What? You’ve had this happen to you?”

“Not exactly,” Viktor admitted. “But I know what it’s like to be alone.”

Yuri was silent, and hadn’t spoken again until they’d gotten back to the manor.

Now, he watched Makkachin curl up at the foot of the chair that his cat had settled on, and asked, “did you mean it?”

Viktor blinked.

“All of it. The lawyer and the rest?”

“Of course I meant it!” Viktor answered, still a bit taken aback. “Besides, I know how the Russian mob works overseas. This might fly in Soviet-era Russia but not anymore. And I’m certain Valentina Babicheva would agree that Gotham could stand to have less mobsters around.”

“How do you know how the mob works?” Yuri demanded, giving him an odd look.

Viktor smiled wryly. “I’ve seen a lot of things. C’mon, let’s go meet Lilia. And I can smell Yakov’s cooking from here.” And he dragged Yuri out of the room, leaving the snoozing animals behind.

 

A couple days later, Viktor had headed down to the catacombs to continue cleaning them out. He’d left Yuri in his room to study, or so he thought. Really, he shouldn’t have been so surprised to find the teen had followed him and was poking around the cavern.

“There’s a bunch of bats up there, you know,” Yuri said, pointing.

Viktor nodded warily.

“So what is this place?”

“A station on the Underground Railroad.”

“Well, duh,” Yuri rolled his eyes. “But why are you cleaning it out?”

Viktor opened his mouth to spout off some nonsense about historical preservation, but Yuri cut him off. “And don’t bullshit me, I can tell if you’re lying.”

Viktor snapped his jaw shut and crossed his arms. “I’m not sure you want to be dragged into this.”

“Try me,” Yuri shot back, mimicking his pose.

They had a minor staring contest, and then Viktor sighed. “I’m thinking of using this as a base of operations,” he admitted.

“For what?”

“For… activism.”

Yuri frowned. “Activism,” he repeated, clearly not buying it.

Viktor shrugged, but didn’t answer.

“Like political activism bullshit, or like putting together your own team of Avengers?” Yuri raised an eyebrow.

“How can you jump to that kind of conclusion?” Viktor laughed. “Who do I look like, Tony Stark?”

“I dunno, you are the heir to a multi-billion dollar estate and next in line to be CEO of a Fortune-500 company,” Yuri retorted. “All you need is an armored suit.”

Viktor winced.

“Aha! I knew it! And you know about the mob because you’ve tangled with them!” Yuri stomped a foot. “You’re going to take them down, right?”

“You are entirely too smart for your own good,” Viktor said in lieu of answering.

“I want in.”

Viktor blinked. “Come again?”

Yuri stalked up to him and poked him in the chest. “I. Want. In. If you’re going to take down the Russian mob Gray Ghost style, I want in.”

“No way,” Viktor said immediately.

“Yes way! I can handle myself!”

“Look, you’re literally my ward,” Viktor argued. “It’s my responsibility to keep you safe--”

“So teach me how to defend myself!” Yuri demanded. “C’mon, you don’t think I haven’t seen you fighting the shrubbery in the morning, I know you can fight. Teach me how and I’ll help you!”

Viktor shook his head. “Absolutely not. I’ll work to exonerate your grandfather, but you do _not_ get to throw yourself headlong into danger just because of your grudge.”

“Fuck you!” Yuri yelled. “You think you know what’s best for me? You’re a fucking hypocrite!”

“I’m also an adult!” Viktor snapped. “I spent the last ten years of my life training for this, traveling the world and learning how this stuff is done! You can’t possibly--”

“Yeah? I’ve spent the last five years of my life getting into street fights and schoolyard brawls, and I started getting good at that one year in,” Yuri’s face took on an ugly expression. “Look, rich boy, maybe I didn’t train with kung fu masters in China, but I know how to take a punch.”

“It doesn’t matter if you can, it’s my job to protect you.”

“It doesn’t have to be!” Yuri shouted, and his voice echoed around the empty cave.

Viktor blinked. “What?”

“I can leave, you know.” Yuri said softly. “And then we can both do whatever we want.”

“Are you seriously threatening me with running away if I don’t let you fight crime?” Viktor said incredulously.

Yuri crossed his arms again and didn’t answer.

Viktor stared at the kid and shook his head in disbelief. “Fine,” he said. “Fine. We’ll discuss it.”

“Thanks,” Yuri said, and he ducked around Viktor to grab a broom. “Now show me where we’re shoving all this shit. Two of us can get it done faster.”

 

When Viktor let Yakov and Lilia know about the new arrangement, Yakov’s eye actually twitched. “He’s still a minor.”

“Yep.”

“I’m fairly certain this is not legal,” Lilia said.

Viktor nodded tiredly. “But at least this way we can keep an eye on him and train him.”

“That kid reminds me of you,” Yakov grumbled. “At this rate, I’m going to lose the little remaining hair I have left.”

“Good thing you look good in those hats,” Lilia agreed.

 

Over the next few days, the household settled into something approximating a routine. Viktor and Yuri continued cleaning out the catacombs, Lilia updated Viktor on his reentry into the American legal system, and Yakov made sure nothing in the manor got damaged.

When they weren’t working, Viktor began putting Yuri through physical conditioning for the eventual fight training they would have to do. He was pleasantly surprised when Yuri proved to be a quick learner, with good agility and flexibility.

“I get the feeling you’ve done some gymnastics,” he commented, watching as Yuri did several impressive sit-ups while hanging from Viktor’s pull-up bar.

“Some,” Yuri answered shortly. Every time he released the crunch and straightened his back, his cat batted at his hair and meowed at him.

“For how long?”

“Dunno.” Another sit-up. “Six or seven years.”

“I’m impressed.”

“Don’t be.”  Yuri’s core fell lax as he took a break. “I’m probably not going to be good for gymnastics much longer, once I hit my growth spurt. Everyone in my family did at some point in puberty.”

“I’m still impressed,” Viktor replied. “This kind of physicality isn’t something just anyone can keep up.”

Yuri made a face and attempted a shrug. “Okay, thanks, I guess.”

“You’re welcome, I guess.”

Yuri huffed a breath, then went back to it. Viktor continued to spot him as he worked on finalizing some designs he wanted to make into reality, later on. He flipped through the dossiers that Lilia had given him, from the R&D division. There was only one that really interested him, though.

He put a note to check in with Tomás de la Iglesia as soon as he was settled in.

 

“So, legal counsel,” Yuri eventually brought up over dinner, an excellent borscht whose recipe had been in Yakov’s family for generations. “When is that going to happen?”

“Probably soon,” Viktor answered, twirling his spoon idly. “I’ll introduce you to the head of our legal team and see who is available to take on your grandfather’s case.”

“It will hinge upon your ability to find evidence to exonerate him,” Lilia reminded the boys idly, sipping at her borscht.

“Of course,” Yuri said immediately. “But the sooner I can get someone on Grandpa’s side, the better.”

“I’m sure the public defender has their heart in the right place,” Viktor pointed out, but Yuri shook his head.

“Probably, but he had a million other cases and this one was impossible.”

“Well, sometimes we have to pick up where the law leaves off,” Viktor said mildly.

Yakov and Lilia exchanged looks while Yuri looked viciously pleased at that.

 

“Transfer of power,” Lilia said, dropping a file on Viktor’s dresser. She eyed the number of knives and daggers on display and her expression was so reminiscent of Yakov’s that Viktor burst out laughing. “I will never understand your obsession with sharp things.”

“Don’t worry about it,” he told her, flipping open the folder. “So how does it feel to be on the eve of your retirement?”

Lilia snorted. “I’m not going to retire.” And she wasn’t, really. She was stepping down as CEO and instead taking up the recently-vacated position of CFO. Still, Viktor hoped that she’d at least consider lessening her workload sometime in the near future. She’d been CEO for longer than Viktor had been alive, and that couldn’t have been easy for her.

“Well, maybe we should look into getting you a dedicated personal assistant,” Viktor said instead.

Lilia’s pencil-thin eyebrows rose, but other than that she didn’t respond. “Sign and date where I’ve highlighted, and then after the court date we’ll get you re-integrated into the company.”

“You think a business degree from St. Petersburg will be enough to impress a bunch of old American businessmen?” he wondered as he paged through the documents.

“It would be if you hadn’t disappeared right after obtaining it,” Lilia answered bluntly. She nodded briskly and left him to it, and Viktor sat down at his father’s old writing desk to begin the steps that would bring him closer to retaking his family’s company.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [deep breath] YUUUUURIIOOOOOOO
> 
> He was going to be introduced a bit later than this but YOU KNOW WHAT, I needed him sooner. I LOVE THIS BOY SO MUCH. Also, his cat's full name is Princess Pirozhki and she is his baby, as we all already know. Makkachin is very good around her.
> 
> Also, Chris! HI CHRIS! The prettiest detective on the GPD force! His fluttering eyelashes have gotten more confessions than the Good Cop, Bad Cop routine has ever done.
> 
> HAPPY BATURDAY EVERYBODY! Next chapter will have more characters and more of Viktor's terrible driving! And as always, [check out the Tumblr for this AU for updates, rants, and Nic's art!](http://yoibatmanau.tumblr.com)


	3. The Mission

[ _one week ago_ ]

 

Probate court was… _utterly boring_.

Yuri declined attendance, and Yakov had elected to stay at the Manor with him. Viktor couldn’t blame either of them, he was having trouble staying focused on the review of evidence confirming his legal identity.

Right then, a fingerprint analyst had his prints from childhood enlarged and displayed next to ones that had been taken just a few weeks ago. The old man gestured to a whorl on the first one, and pointed to the corresponding one on the second one, talking about the probability of that particular whorl being shared between two individuals.

Viktor fought the urge to sigh and drop his head into his hands, but Lilia was sitting ramrod straight on his left, and he merely squared his shoulders and forced himself to refocus on the speaker.

It had been hours. _Hours_. Lilia had occasionally murmured in his ear that they were doing well, more of a reassurance than anything else, because Viktor was clearly broadcasting vibes of “is this even worth it” to the courtroom at large.

He sipped at the proffered water and swallowed another sigh before twisting his neck to glance behind him.

There were quite a few people packed into the courtroom to witness the reaffirmation of one of the most talked-about members of upper-crust society. Viktor had been gratified to run into Chris, who had snagged a seat in the row behind him. Chris looked up and met his gaze, and waggled his eyebrows. _Fascinating_ , he mouthed.

Viktor shot him a tiny smirk, and Lilia patted his arm to bring his attention back up front.

The fingerprint guy was still talking, and even the judge looked bored out of her mind. A few more minutes of that, and she interrupted. “So what you’re saying--” _in an overly-detailed way,_ Viktor mentally added, “that there is very little chance that someone could have a similar fingerprint?”

“There is about ninety-six-point-eight-seven percent chance that this man, who provided this fingerprint,” the analyst gestured at Viktor’s more recent fingerprint submission, “is also the provider of this one.” He finished his speech off by pointing at Viktor’s childhood fingerprint.

“Good enough for me,” said the judge, making the assembly laugh.

Next was the DNA evidence, which was fairly straightforward. That only took a few minutes, and confirmed once again that this was indeed Viktor Nikiforov, the lost golden boy of Gotham.

“I think I’ve seen enough,” the judge eventually announced, with one pound of the gavel. “Welcome home, Mr. Nikiforov. The company and estate are yours.”

“Thank you, your honor,” he answered, shooting her a smile as the courtroom erupted in applause. Lilia squeezed his shoulder as they both pushed their chairs back and got to their feet, and then the vultures descended.

Chris shot him a sardonic smile as the crush of reporters crowded around Viktor and Lilia, waving goodbye with a slight salute. Viktor knew he’d be seeing the detective later on, so he grinned before he and Lilia pushed their way out of the courtroom and into the hall.

“Mister Nikiforov!” a young reporter from one of the major channels held out his mic, eyes bright and smiling wide. “Can you tell us anything about where you’ve been in the past ten years?”

“I went to Europe,” Viktor answered blandly. “Chased down family history. Tried to find myself without the trappings of my family name. I think I succeeded.”

“What did that entail?” a pushy woman asked, shoving the young man out of the way.

“A lot of introspection and personal examination,” Viktor replied. “Make of that what you will.”

Everyone chuckled and tittered. Lilia had a strained smile on her face.

“What are your plans for Nikiforov Enterprises?” another reporter asked.

“Ms. Baranovskaya has kept the company on the path that my family wished, and I am incredibly proud to continue that work myself, with her help of course. I also hope to expand our charitable presence in the city.” Viktor winked, and a few people blushed (one woman actually staggered as if her knees had given out.) “I realize that’s incredibly vague but I can promise a more in-depth look at my plans once I’m settled in at Nikiforov Enterprises.”

“Can you comment on the Gotham of today?” an older man with a scraggly beard and a rather shouty voice demanded.

Viktor shrugged. “Gotham is both familiar and entirely new to me,” he said. “I am looking forward to reacquainting myself with my hometown.”

The man was not satisfied. “But give us your thoughts on the current mayor--”

“Oh, Valentina?” Viktor’s smile turned icy. “She’s an old friend of my mother’s, I grew up thinking of her as an aunt. I think that I should refrain from commenting on her administration for the moment, thank you.”

The reporter scowled at him and drowned out the others once more as he demanded, “are the reports of you spending time in Russia accurate? Were you working with the Kremlin?”

Viktor laughed. “That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard. No more questions, please.”

Lilia and Viktor were shepherded out of the courtroom, the reporters following, and the bailiff barked for them to stay back.

The sounds, of the bailiff shouting and the clattering of footsteps, the echoing of the babbling from the reporters off of the vaulted ceiling…

_“Mister Nikiforov!” a man shouts, trying to muscle past the police blockade that Viktor is immensely grateful for. “Mister Nikiforov, how does it feel to watch the man who murdered your parents walk free?”_

_Viktor jerks violently, and Chris squeezes his arm. “Ignore them,” the fifteen-year-old murmurs, his green eyes sparkling angrily. “They’re just trying to provoke a response.”_

_Viktor reflects on the old service revolver that he’d stolen from Yakov’s closet, resting in his pocket, and says nothing._

_The noise picks up as the doors open and there he is._

_Joe Chill is escorted out of the courtroom, flanked by police and feds, and something inside Viktor’s chest goes utterly cold._

_The man looks nothing like Viktor’s memories say he should, all wan and sickly and nervous. Nothing like the mugger who’d--_

_“Viktor, c’mon,” Chris urges him, tugging at his arm. “C’mon, let’s go.”_

_“I-- I gotta--”_

_“No, Viktor, let’s go,” Chris pleads, and Viktor can’t breathe, can’t think._

_His hand closes around Yakov’s revolver, and he’s shaking--_

CRACK.

_Someone screams, and then…_

BANG. BANG.

_Viktor jumps in surprise and Chris cries out, dragging him to the ground as chaos erupts in the halls._

_“Mister Nikiforov--” one of the policemen says, shaking him. “Are you all right?”_

_“What happened?” Viktor chokes out, and Chris pushes him back down when he tries to sit up._

_“Someone shot Chill,” one of the other policemen says, sounding shocked. “Just walked up and shot him. The feds fired back.”_

_“Jesus Christ,” Chris whispers, and Viktor can’t stop shaking._

_He’s dead. The man that killed his parents is dead, and Viktor wasn’t the one to kill him._

“Viktor!”

Lilia’s voice brought him back to the present, and he snapped back into his public face. “Sorry, I was just thinking--”

“Oh, Lord save us from whatever you’ve dreamed up now,” Lilia said tiredly.

“Just thinking,” Viktor repeated, and Lilia sighed and squeezed his arm. “C’mon, I wanna go visit my company.”

“Very well,” Lilia agreed, and they departed the courthouse, followed by the clamoring press. It wasn’t until they were safely shut into the town car that Viktor was finally wrapped in blessed silence.

“I’ve sent notice to Mr. de la Iglesias,” Lilia said after a long moment.

“Good. I want to start working with him as soon as possible,” Viktor answered, staring out the window as the buildings flashed by.

“Can it wait until after Christmas?” Lilia sounded resigned, but Viktor shrugged.

“I don’t see why not.”

Lilia raised her eyebrows. “All right, then.”

Viktor nodded, and Lilia let him sit in silence for the rest of the car ride.

 

If he’d thought he could avoid crowds for the rest of the day, he would have been sorely mistaken. Luckily, he was somewhat prepared when what seemed to be _every single employee_ at Nikiforov Enterprises lined up to greet him.

“Wow,” he said, and Lilia laughed.

“I think they missed you.”

He was bewildered. “How could they have missed me? Most of these people should barely remember me.”

“Trust me, they remember you. And your parents.” Lilia straightened his collar for him, and he mentally steeled himself for the onslaught of attention.

His name was shouted from every possible angle, and so many hands were reaching out to him, so he ended up spending a good half hour in the atrium of the building, just shaking hands and greeting people.

A surprising number of people turned out to be long-time employees who had been there since before… before. They remembered Viktor and his family’s annual company holiday parties; even the head of the janitorial staff stepped forward to doff his hat, and had a few stories that pinged at Viktor’s earliest memories. He found himself laughing, his smiles coming less strained than he’d thought.

Eventually the crowd began to disperse as people headed back to their jobs, leaving just Lilia and a rather intense, dark-haired young man.

“Viktor, this is Georgi Popovich,” Lilia said, beckoning the young man forward. “He works under me as my assistant.”

“I would be happy to assist you as well, Mr. Nikiforov,” Georgi said smoothly. He stuck out his hand, and Viktor clasped it.

“I’m probably going to take you up on that, Georgi. And please, call me Viktor. We’ve got to be close in age.”

Georgi cracked a smile. “Viktor, then. Good to meet you.”

“All right, let’s head up to the executive offices,” Lilia said briskly, and set off towards the elevator banks. Georgi and Viktor exchanged amused looks and followed after her.

“I have taken the liberty of arranging a meeting with the Board,” Lilia informed Viktor as they waited for the elevator to descend. “Just to make it official.”

“Who should I be watching out for?” Viktor asked, and Georgi produced a smartphone, quickly unlocking it to present it to Viktor.

“This man is the owner of a restaurant chain, most of them are in the theater district,” Georgi said, pointing to the digital profile of a Jiovanni Crispino. “He started with just one and expanded about eight years ago. He’s been pretty helpful, keeping the company on track. I say to watch out for him because he is pretty demanding when it comes to attention. Make sure to acknowledge him as much as possible and try to ride the line between letting him have his say and keeping him reined in so everyone else can speak.”

Viktor hummed and nodded.

“Our newest board member is Minako Okukawa. Japanese-born, heads a grant committee and runs several charities. Inherited a lot of money, also plays the stock market. She’s still settling into her role, but she does appear to be getting along with everyone.”

Viktor raised his eyebrows. “Okay.”

“Sally Collins, she bought the Gotham Coliseum six years ago and refurbished it. She’s pretty aggressive, but for the most part she tends to focus her energy on revitalizing businesses to turn a profit. She was the one that directed Ms. Baranovskaya to purchase Beauline Cosmetics after the scandal four years ago.”

“And she still likes to bring that up,” Lilia muttered.

“The only problem member I can say is definitely worth watching is Matthew Davis.” Georgi tapped on the profile. “He’s a career CEO, currently working at Midwest Prime Pharmaceuticals. I believe he had his eyes on your spot, and was only playing nicely until he could assume it. He’s definitely starting to chafe with the other members.”

Viktor looked up at Lilia and whistled. “You think he’s going to give me trouble?”

“More than likely,” Lilia conceded.

Viktor grinned, a sharp-edged smile. He’d dealt with Russian mobsters and less-than-savory members of a ninja cult. A pouting businessman would be child’s play.

The elevator dinged at the executive level, and the three of them disembarked.

“Well, this day is going to be engaging,” Viktor said aloud in Russian, and both Lilia and Georgi made noises of approval.

The secretary outside the offices greeted them cheerfully as Georgi let them into the CEO’s office, and she blushed a little when Viktor acknowledged her. Lilia shot him an amused look, and then ushered him into his new office.

She’d already removed her personal effects and left everything ready for him to move into, and Viktor felt like the occasion should be more momentous as he settled into the chair behind his grandfather’s desk. “Well,” he said, looking up at Lilia and Georgi. “I guess it’s official.”

“Don’t let yourself think this means I’ll be going easy on you,” Lilia warned him.

“Wouldn’t have it any other way.” Viktor winked at her, and she rolled her eyes at him and turned on her heel.

“I’ll leave you to get acquainted with your new space,” she tossed over her shoulder. “Board meeting is in half an hour. Be prepared for a lot of brown-nosing.”

Viktor hummed and drummed his fingers on his desk. “All right, Georgi. Catch me up.”

 

The board meeting started off with a standing ovation. Any other person might have been embarrassed but Viktor found himself reveling in the attention.

“Thank you so much for the warm welcome,” he said once the clapping had died down and everyone had taken their seats. “I’m sorry it took me so long, but I am so very happy to be back.”

“Good to have you back, son,” said Richard Chelsea, a board member that Viktor vaguely remembered from his childhood. “The place wasn’t the same without you.”

“Ah, come now,” Viktor laughed. “I’m happy I had such a dedicated team to hold down the fort for me.”

“That was all Ms. Baranovskaya,” said Sally Collins. Viktor detected a bit of false humility, but said nothing. “We’ll miss her.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” Lilia reminded them, raising her eyebrows. Some of the board members chuckled.

“And thank goodness, I don’t know what I would do in life without you,” Viktor said, and Lilia made an annoyed noise at him. “All right, I’ll stop sweet-talking you. I don’t want to waste any more time, Mr. Popovich was kind enough to catch me up on our business affairs, but I still would like to hear from all of you.”

Thanks to Georgi and Lilia preparing Viktor beforehand, he was plenty prepared for the various curveballs that the board members threw at him. Indeed, Sally Collins proved to be fairly pushy, repeating herself in an attempt to gain support for her ideas. Jiovanni Crispino was quite similar, but played more of a passive-aggressive game. Navigating those minefields was like a dance for Viktor, who carefully played the part of listener while unobtrusively guiding them to a consensus that the rest of the board could gather behind.

Minako Okukawa was mostly silent, only speaking up when directly addressed. She was clearly feeling him out before becoming more active, and mostly watched him with an amused smile on her lips. He couldn’t get a read on her, so he instead chose to give what he got and let her make the first move.

The other board members rode the fine line between testing the waters and attempting to push him around. Viktor stood his ground and it only took three or four attempts for the board to figure out that he was very much a successor from Lilia’s own mold. They figured out their part in the dance very quickly after that.

Matthew Davis, however, was quite surly after the initial clap-and-greet; his only contribution was to suggest that the company look into acquiring a government contract for weapons manufacturing. Nikiforov Enterprises under Lilia had discontinued the weapons manufacturing, but they still had government contracts for things such as body armor, nonviolent drones, and other tools that could be used for self defense. Gotham PD had a contract for their products, and the coast guard had a three-year upgrade plan for search-and-rescue equipment. Viktor personally thought that adding guns and bombs and missiles to their catalogue would be counterproductive to his personal mission to quell the violence on Gotham’s streets, but Davis’s expression indicated that he was not going to let this one go easily.

Viktor glanced at Lilia, and her expression mirrored his own feelings towards the idea. While the other board members were clearly mulling the idea over, he shook his head dismissively. “I hope you don’t mind,” he said, and the room fell silent. “I did spend some time overseas. I do have something that can be considered outsider experience, and I can honestly say that the American government is not hurting for weapons contracts.” He shrugged noncommittally. “I would think that focusing on everyday tech solutions would bring us better results, while maintaining good standing with the public.”

“You’re concerned with the public’s view of this company?” Davis asked, incredulous. “Why?”

“Well, the public is currently our biggest client,” Viktor pointed out. “We don’t have a monopoly on anything, so giving consumers reasons to patronize us over our competitors is a priority.” He raised his eyebrows pointedly.

Lilia hid her mouth behind her hand - was that a smile, there? - while Ms. Okukawa’s eyes widened and Ms. Collins’s jaw dropped. Mr. Crispino actually sat back in surprise, and the other board members tittered in shock as Davis’s mouth opened and closed, no words coming out.

Georgi had been kind enough to explain Matthew Davis’s actions as CEO of Midwest Prime Pharmaceuticals over the past five years: while no one could prove it, between a vicious legal team, a cutthroat business acumen, and whispers of some shady closed-doors alliances with their own marketplace rivals, Midwest Prime had made it next to impossible for consumers to purchase affordable prescriptions and medications. Everything from mental health medications to insulin had been marked up over three hundred percent across the board, and Viktor was fairly certain that insurance providers weren’t willing to play close to eight hundred dollars for drugs, even if they were lifesaving drugs.

Davis narrowed his eyes. “This is business, Mr. Nikiforov.”

“Indeed.” Viktor agreed, letting a bit of steel into his voice. He snapped back into his pleasant persona and looked around at everyone else. “In any case, I think I’ll continue in the direction that Ms. Baranovskaya set us in during her tenure as CEO. Of course, I don’t think anyone will object to the non-weapons contracts we will continue to make.”

A few people nodded in agreement. Ms. Okukawa had an expression of stunned respect on her face, and Mr. Chelsea was grinning broadly.

“All right, anything else on the agenda?” Viktor looked at Georgi, who blinked.

“Ah. No, I believe everything has been discussed.”

“Excellent!” Viktor clapped his hands and shot his most winning smile around the table. “I think we’re off to a great start. I look forward to working with you all.”

On their way out, everyone save Matthew Davis made sure to shake Viktor’s hand and personally express their happiness to see his return. When Ms. Okukawa got to him, she had an unreadable almost-smirk on her face.

“It’s a pleasure to finally meet Gotham’s golden boy,” she said. Her grip was firm and solid, surprising for such a willowy lady, and her hand was warm and dry. “I was hoping to invite you to the New Year’s Eve gala and benefit for the Gotham Public Schools.”

“Ah, I believe Mila Babicheva mentioned that to me!” Viktor nodded. “I would love to attend.”

“And, if you’d like to keep up your momentum,” Ms. Okukawa fluttered her eyelashes at him, “there’s something of a charity auction going on.”

“I would be happy to donate--”

“It’s a bachelor auction. For a Midnight Kiss date.”

Viktor closed his mouth and blinked. “Ah. Well.”

“Of course, you don’t have to participate if you don’t feel comfortable with it.” Ms. Okukawa had a coy smile on her face. Well, he _had_ allowed her to be the one to act first.

“Actually,” he eventually said. “I’ll think about it. It sounds fun. I’ll let you know by the end of the week, for sure.”

“Wonderful!” Ms. Okukawa beamed at him before taking her leave.

Georgi and Lilia were the only ones remaining with him after that. “So, what do you think? How did that go?” Viktor asked, following them out of the boardroom.

“I think you put the fear of God into them,” Georgi said.

“A little strong, for a first impression,” Lilia answered, eying him. “But it had the desired effect, at least on Davis.”

“I thought I’d hate that,” Viktor commented. “But it was actually pretty fun.”

“Oh, Lord have mercy, you’re enjoying this.” Lilia shuddered.

Georgi followed them into Lilia’s office, and Viktor shoved his hands into his suit jacket’s pockets.

“So that New Year’s Eve auction,” he said.

Lilia raised her eyebrows. “You’re seriously thinking of doing it?”

“It could be a good idea,” Georgi mused. “It would give the company some nice publicity, and it wouldn’t hurt to be involved in one of Ms. Okukawa’s charities.”

“Provided that you behave yourself,” Lilia added pointedly.

Viktor waggled his eyebrows at her, and she sighed in resignation.

 

It took another two days of getting acquainted with the company before he could finally get Tomás de la Iglesia into his office.

“Ah, finally!”

The man in question was broad-shouldered, with an open face, laugh lines at the corners of his eyes and a salt-and-pepper beard and mustache. He carried himself with an easy sort of power, gave off an aura of being utterly at ease with being called into the boss’s office for reasons he did not yet know.

“Mister Nikiforov,” he said, shaking Viktor’s proffered hand. “It’s a pleasure.”

“Yes, yes it is! My CFO tells me you are just the man I need to speak to.” Viktor ushered the man further into his office and firmly shut the door behind him.

 

Mr. de la Iglesia had an excellent poker face. He listened to Viktor’s proposition with a blank expression, only raising his eyebrows when Viktor finished and sat back.

“And these… tools. You wish to market them to the police?”

“Eventually. We’d need to test them.” He didn’t mention he wanted to be the tester himself.

“And the body armor?”

Viktor shrugged. “This is Gotham. Who here couldn’t use some added protection?”

Mr. de la Iglesia chewed on his lower lip as he considered it. “I don’t believe you, Mr. Nikiforov.”

Viktor frowned.

“I have a teenage son, you see. You pick things up when you have children, especially precocious, mischievous borderline geniuses. I can tell that your excitement is genuine.” Mr. de la Iglesia waved a hand. “But what are you planning?”

Viktor hesitated. “Activism?”

Mr. de la Iglesia frowned. “As in vigilantism?”

Damn, the man  _was_ smart. Or was Viktor too obvious? He tried to hedge out an answer, but settled for a shrug.

“Yourself?”

“Maybe.”

The head of R&D sighed. “Well, if you’re anything like my Leo, you’ll go out and do whatever you please. I suppose I might as well make sure you are as safe as possible.” He stood up, and Viktor did so as well. “Come down to my workshop once you’ve finished for the day, and we can talk more in-depth then. My staff leaves for home at six.”

“Your son is very lucky,” Viktor said, walking Mr. de la Iglesia to the door.

“I’m proud of him.” Mr. de la Iglesia said, smiling. “Even if he gives me most of my gray hairs.”

 

Yuri was already in the catacombs when Viktor arrived with Mr. de la Iglesia, continuing the work to clean out the space.

“What’s he doing here?” the teen demanded, eying Mr. de la Iglesia with distrust.

“He wanted to see the premises,” Viktor answered.

Mr. de la Iglesia was peering into the smaller chambers, examining the main one branching out from the staircase, all the time whistling with approval. “Quite a lot of room down here.”

“It started out as a stop on the Underground Railroad, and I think at one point bootleggers expanded it during the Prohibition.” Viktor shoved his hands into his pockets. “We’ve been cleaning it out and keep finding new surprises.”

“Yeah, like the colony of bats by the cave entrances,” Yuri muttered.

Viktor couldn’t fight a shudder at that.

“I’m not surprised,” Mr. de la Iglesia said. “Rather dusty down here, isn’t it?”

“No fucking kidding,” Yuri said, wiping off his forehead.

Viktor frowned at the teen. “Hey, watch your language.”

“It’s all right,” Mr. de la Iglesia laughed. “But getting back to the original topic at hand, yes, I think I can help with this setup. I developed a compound that can be used to seal natural caves, but we never quite managed to get it sold to the army.” He patted the cave walls. “They wanted bombs and guns. I wasn’t interested in making those.”

“You’re working for the right company,” Viktor said.

“That I am.” Mr. de la Iglesia hefted his briefcase, and gestured at the table that Viktor had set up in the previous week. Viktor nodded, and Mr. de la Iglesia pulled out a legal pad and a pen, hunching over the table. “Let me get a general measurement, the specs, the works, and I can start tailoring a system for you.”

“Sounds good to me,” Viktor said. “Take as long as you need. Dinner will be ready shortly, if you’d like to stay.”

“As nice as that sounds, I really ought to get back to my family at some point.” Mr. de la Iglesia smiled. “But thank you anyway.”

Viktor nodded, and gestured at Yuri. “C’mon, Yura. Lilia will want you to wash up before eating.”

“Finally,” Yuri groaned, dropping the massive push broom. “My everything is aching.”

Viktor snorted. “You think this is bad?”

“Oh, please,” Yuri glared at Viktor, his lip curling. “Don’t allude to your mysterious backstory and not tell me anything.”

“All right, then stop complaining.” Viktor poked Yuri’s shoulder, and the teen batted his hand away. “Ah! You’ve got to be quicker, Yura!”

“Don’t call me that!”

 

Lilia was unamused at the construction project that consisted of Mr. de la Iglesia calling in his trusted contractors to tramp down into the cellar and the catacombs. Viktor happily reimbursed the men as they managed to do in two days what had taken him and Yuri over a week. Yuri had taken those days as a break and spent it curled up on his bed, playing with his phone and his cat. Viktor, on the other hand, decided to oversee the work, sipping what Yakov called his “disgusting health sludge” while Mr. de la Iglesias explained the process, the compound, the tools, and anything else of interest. Viktor took it all in, watching as the catacombs became a veritable lair. Lights were installed, flooring was put in, and walls were reinforced. It was a heartening weekend.

But really, the true measure of success was when Lilia willingly set foot in the refurbished catacombs on Christmas Eve. She gave the chambers an approving sniff and nodded. “All right, it’s not so bad now.” She crossed her arms and made a face. “But I still don’t want you two spending more time down here than necessary.” She jabbed a finger in Yakov’s face. “I want you to make sure of it.”

“They don’t listen to me,” Yakov grumbled. “You know that.”

Lilia ignored him and turned to make her way back upstairs.

Viktor glanced at Yuri and Yakov, before turning back to his lair. “It’s chilly, but I figure with Mister de la Iglesia’s computers it should warm up nicely.”

The home base was coming along nicely, Viktor reflected as he leaned on the balustrade overlooking the large chamber. It would be some time before he could launch any vehicles from it, but that would come with time.

For now, what had been insubstantial pieces of ideas - wishes - were now becoming solid realities.

“Don’t forget,” Lilia yelled down the stairs. “We have a party tonight and you are _all_ to put in appearances!”

Viktor, Yuri, and Yakov all winced in unison.

“Well,” Yakov eventually said, squaring his shoulders. “Into the fray, I guess.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Before I forget, that flashback takes place when Viktor was age 17. Poor baby ;A;
> 
> So. Um. That thing that the pharmaceutical guy is doing with his company? [Actually a thing in the real world.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=H5qcIuL1kjs) It's so disgusting.
> 
> ANYWAY. Sorry for the late update. OTL Real life kicked my ass but I kicked back and now everything hurts but hey! You guys get a chapter of Viktor being a boardroom badass. This isn't the end of that. Why yes, I'm going to live out my power fantasies through Viktor and Yuuri respectively. Don't look at me.
> 
> Also I anticipate a lot of yelling about that auction. Patience!
> 
> As always, [check out the tumblr for art, news, updates, previews, and random music posts!](http://yoibatmanau.tumblr.com)


	4. The Man

[ _ Viktor, age ten _ ]

 

Mama is resplendent in her white skates, her long dark hair tied back in a messy braid. She glides past Viktor, picking up speed, and pulls off a beautiful triple axel with the kind of ease that takes Viktor’s breath away.

There are cheers and applause from the watches on the outskirts of the rink, both from fellow skaters making their leisurely circuits around the center and the spectators behind the boards. Viktor catches Yakov’s eye, and his family’s butler gestures at him.  _ Come on, _ he seems to be saying.  _ Join her _ .

Viktor’s jumps aren’t that impressive yet, he can only manage singles and a rare double, but he still follows Mama’s path to the center.

His launch is flawed, he manages somewhere between one and two rotations, and stumbles on the ice. Face burning in mortification, he slides a few feet and ducks his head.

Mama skids to a stop next to him and crouches, putting one knee down and holding out a hand. “It’s all right, darling.”

Viktor chews on his upper lip and doesn’t meet her eyes. “I fell.”

“Indeed, but you know how to get yourself back up.” Mama pushes his hair out of his face and gently guides his chin back up. Her eyes meet his, the same sparkling blue. “Viktor, it’s not a bad thing to rely on the people who love you.”

Viktor swallows, and takes her hand. Mama helps set him back on his blades and then stands up herself, smiling down at him.

“There you are,” she says, swinging their clasped hands. “Come, let’s just skate for a bit.”

“I wanna try again,” he says stubbornly.

Mama nods and sweeps her arm out to the wide expanse of ice left open. “Remember, don’t be hasty. You jump when you’re ready.”

Viktor lets go of her hand and skates off, makes another circuit to find his footing, and then loops back to the middle. This time, he manages a clean liftoff. It’s a single toe loop, but it’s a solid one. Mama’s cheering somehow rises above the clapping from the onlookers, and Viktor can’t stop smiling.

 

When Papa finds him, Viktor is crouching under his desk in the den.

Papa squats down next to his desk and braces his elbows on his knees. “What are you doing down there, Vitya?”

Viktor shakes his head.

“Is it the bats again?”

“They’re in my room,” he whispers, hiding his face behind his shoulder-length hair.

Papa sighs and takes a seat on the floor next to Viktor. “I’ll ask Yakov to get them out.”

“Don’t hurt them!” Viktor pleads.

“He won’t, don’t worry.” Papa gives him a little smile. “You’re quite kind to the things that frighten you, Vitya. Not many men would be.”

Viktor shrugs, biting on his thumbnail.

“Hey, hey,” Papa tugs Viktor’s hands out of his mouth. “This is a bad habit, son. You really ought to stop.”

Viktor makes a face at his father.

“Fine, chew your fingers to shreds,” Papa laughs. “See if any girl likes a guy with scabby hands.”

Viktor considers it, and then scoots out from under Papa’s desk. Papa scoops him into his lap and gets a tickle in on Viktor’s ribs, making the boy laugh and squeak.

“God, you’re getting big,” Papa says. “You’ll be as tall as me one day.”

Viktor giggles and curls into his father’s chest.

 

“I remember when I first saw her,” Papa says, and Mama smiles at him softly in the firelight. “How old were we?”

“You were just finishing up pre-med,” Mama tells him, leaning against his shoulder. “So, twenty-two.”

“God, I was young,” Papa murmurs, and Mama rolls her eyes.

“You are young still.” She punctuates every word with a little jab to his chest.

Viktor gazes up at them, chin cradled in his hands as he lays flat on his belly on the rug in front of the fireplace. He doesn’t think he knows anyone more in love than his parents.

“It was a party,” Papa says. “I don’t recall what for.”

“Oh, some kind of fundraiser,” Mama answers. “Political. My parents were attending.”

“Mm, thank goodness for that,” Papa smiles, and Mama laughs. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone so stunning.”

“Did you even know who I was?” Mama asks.

Papa smiles. “Of course.”

“Really?”

“You were the Ice Princess of Gotham for over a decade, how could I not know?” He strokes her arm, and she curls up even more closely to him. “It was love at first sight,” he tells Viktor, and Mama smiles. “Your mama walked in wearing a blue gown out of a fairytale and it was like she was on the ice, it was like her feet didn’t touch the ground.”

“Stop it, Foma,” she giggles.

“I had to dance with her,” Papa goes on. “I just  _ had _ to, but other men kept getting in my way, sweeping her off to the dance floor, and I couldn’t stand it.”

“He went off to sulk,” Mama adds, and Papa hides his face in her loosened hair. “I found him in the library, moping. It took two glasses of champagne to draw him out, and I didn’t dance with anyone else for the rest of the night. He wouldn’t let go of my hand!”

“You didn’t complain,” Papa mumbles, and Mama ran her fingers through his hair.

“I think the first time you ever showed up at one of my competitions, that was the first time I ever felt so nervous,” she admits. “I wanted to skate my best for you.”

“You always do, though. No matter what.”

Mama smiles, and her eyes glimmer as Papa kisses her nose.

Viktor wonders if he’ll ever love someone like that. He rolls onto his back to look up at the paneled ceiling and closes his eyes, picturing the party like it’s a scene out of a Disney movie.

Maybe soon, he thinks. Papa has parties all the time. Maybe one day he’ll look up, meet someone’s eyes across the room, and that’ll be it.

He sighs, and it feels like butterflies in his stomach.

 

[ _ now _ ]

 

Viktor removed a bottle from a specially weighted rack, and the hidden door to the refurbished catacombs slid open. He quickly descended into the cave and followed his ears to the chamber that would eventually house the computer terminal.

Yuri was sitting in the office chair that Viktor had hauled downstairs for Mr. de la Iglesias. He had his phone out, and was watching something on YouTube with no earbuds.

“Hey, you suited up?” Viktor called.

Yuri made a face and spun around in the office chair. He was indeed wearing the suit that Lilia had gotten for him, and a pout.

“It’s not going to be that bad,” Viktor promised, but Yuri clearly didn’t buy it. He shoved his phone into his pocket and followed Viktor out of the catacombs, shoulders hunched.

“Cheer up, I’ll introduce you to someone who will most definitely get you out of your shell,” Viktor said, clapping the teen on the shoulder.

Yuri eyed him in distrust. “Who?”

Viktor beamed.

 

“Mila, this is Yura. He’s staying with me while we take care of some things for him.”

Mila’s face lit up and her expression made Yuri inch back. If he himself had been a cat, his fur would have been standing on end.

“Ooh, hi there!” Mila chirped. She pounced, latching onto Yuri with the intensity of an octopus, and Yuri squeaked. “You’re so cute! Russian?” she asked in their shared language.

“Some,” he answered in kind, looking at Viktor pleadingly.

“Cool! We can go make fun of people to their faces and they won’t understand a word of it!”

A smile actually cracked Yuri’s sulky facade and he allowed himself to be dragged off. Viktor watched them go with a grin.

“Good idea,” Yakov said, coming to stand beside him. He was dressed for the occasion and surveying his fleet of servers with an eagle eye. “He’s less likely to get himself into trouble if he has someone holding onto him.”

“I was hoping they could be friends,” Viktor mused, grabbing a glass of champagne off of a passing tray. “God knows Mila has the wit to match his.”

Yakov snorted and then something caught his attention, judging by the way his spine snapped straight. “Excuse me,” he said ominously, and stalked off to the buffet.

Viktor watched him go before a few socialites swept up to him in a massive crowd to fawn and fight for his attention.

Some of the girls were familiar to him - a few former rinkmates from his figure skating days, classmates from private school, and the children of his parents’ business associates. It wasn’t difficult to put on a benign expression and catch up. A few were newcomers to the scene who just wanted to test the waters and maybe be friendly enough to… well, be friends. And one or two were basically trophy hunters. Viktor was able to maintain his polite facade while talking to them, but after deflecting their pointed questions and comments, he was feeling drained.

Thankfully, an angel in the form of Ms. Minako Okukawa arrived.

“Mister Nikiforov!” she trilled, looping her arm through his and dragging him away. “I realize you’re quite a popular guy, but there are some people you absolutely  _ must  _ meet!”

Once they were out of earshot, he deflated and breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank you.”

“You reminded me of my protege there, but you definitely lasted longer than he tends to.” Ms. Okukawa sipped at her drink. “I figured you probably wouldn’t be able to peel away yet.”

“No, I’m incredibly grateful. I do not want to deal with the husband-hunters all night.” Viktor winced. “I’m sure they’re nice girls--”

“Oh, a few of them aren’t. Don’t feel bad.”

They both snorted, and that was when Mr. de la Iglesia stepped up with his wife and a teenager that had to be his son.

“Mister Nikiforov,” he said, clasping Viktor’s hand and then drawing his wife forward. “May I introduce my better half Alicia and our son Leo.”

“Welcome home, Mister Nikiforov,” Mrs. de la Iglesia said, and Viktor smiled as she squeezed his hand. “And may I say? Happy birthday.”

“Thank you,” he said.

“It’s nice to see this place filled up again,” she went on, casting her gaze around the filled hall. “I’ve missed the parties and the gatherings, even if I didn’t get to go to them all.”

“Well, I’ll have to rectify that,” Viktor replied. “Both parts.”

Mrs. de la Iglesia grinned at that, but her husband glanced at their son and made a displeased noise.

“Leo, for goodness sake, we’re at a party. Put your phone away.”

“I was talking to someone,” the young man said in a long-suffering tone. “Sorry.”

His mother flicked his nose. “You can talk to Guang-hong later; it’s literally just a few hours,  _ mijo _ .”

“You can go for one evening without texting him,” Mr. de la Iglesia agreed.

Leo made a face. “I have friends other than Guang-hong,” he protested. “I’m building something for one of them.”

“Building what?” Mrs. de la Iglesia’s tone hardened noticeably, and Leo stiffened.

“Just… rock climbing stuff?” Leo said quickly. “He’s a rock climber. It’s a challenge. What?”

“He takes after you?” Viktor said to Mr. de la Iglesia, who chuckled.

“Somewhat, but I like to think he has his mother’s sensibility.”

“He got my sarcasm,” Mrs. de la Iglesia muttered.

Leo gave her an angelic smile, and she ruffled his hair in retaliation.

“It was very nice to meet you all,” Viktor said, shaking Mr. de la Iglesia’s hand again. “Will you be attending this New Year’s Eve gala that Ms. Okukawa is organizing?”

“Ah, I’m afraid not,” Mrs. de la Iglesia winced. “There’s a thing at the Gotham Museum of Contemporary Art that I was invited to, and I’m making these two come with me to keep me from running screaming into the night.”

“She hates modern art,” her husband stage-whispered as Leo snorted, and Mrs. de la Iglesia let out a long-suffering sigh that was quite similar to her son’s.

Viktor bit back a laugh. “My condolences.”

“You’re not a modern art aficionado, are you, Mister Nikiforov?” Mr. de la Iglesia raised his eyebrows as his wife blushed furiously.

“The only thing I know about art is that people ought to pay more for it,” Viktor declared, and Ms. Okukawa hefted her glass of champagne and cheered “hear hear!”

They parted ways with the de la Iglesia family shortly after that; Mrs. de la Iglesia was beaming enough to light up the room.

“You know, your parents’ parties were a bit before my time, but I hear they were quite the events,” Ms. Okukawa said, sipping at her drink.

“Oh, they were,” Viktor agreed. “And sometimes I actually enjoyed getting dressed up and attending.”

Ms. Okukawa raised her eyebrows. “Just sometimes?”

“I was just a kid!” Viktor protested.

 

[ _ Viktor, age eleven _ ]

 

“I’m so bored,” Viktor whines, clinging to Yakov’s blazer. “Yakov, save me!”

“Viktor, don’t speak Russian at the party,” Yakov says, not even bothering to attempt to pry Viktor’s hands loose.

“But Yakov--”

“Vitya, play nice and behave yourself and maybe we can go to the zoo this week.”

Viktor suddenly lights up. “Really?” he trills, shaking Yakov’s arm.

“I’ll talk to your mother,” Yakov agrees. “Now go mingle.” He sends Viktor off with a little pat on the shoulder before returning to the wet bar for another tray.

Viktor begins to weave through the crowds, searching for his mother. She’d been wearing a deep burgundy dress, he recalls. He wishes that his growth spurt would happen already, so he could see above all of the heads in his way.

“Whoa, there, son!”

Viktor smacks into an unfamiliar man in a tux, looking down at him in amusement. “On a mission, young Mister Nikiforov?”

“Just looking for my mother,” he says absently, brushing his hair out of his face.

“I think that would be easier if you’d get rid of all of that mess,” the man says, gesturing at his now chest-length hair, tied partially back. “You almost look like a little girl with all of that.”

Viktor frowns at him. “So?”

The man blinks, then tries to recover. “You see, boys don’t wear their hair long in the grown-up world.” His voice is sugary and condescending.

Viktor decides he’s had enough of mingling. “I’m not a grown-up,” he says, brushing the man aside. “Excuse me.”

He finds Mama shortly after that, and she’s talking to Mrs. Babicheva on the sofas. Mrs. Babicheva has Mila balanced on her lap, and the toddler is dozing against her mother’s shoulder.

“Mama!”

“Vitya, have you said hello to Mila yet?” Mama scoots over to make room for him, and Mrs. Babicheva shifts Mila enough for Viktor to peer into the little girl’s face.

Two blue eyes blink sleepily at him before the girl turns her face into her mother’s chest again, and Mama giggles.

“I remember when you were that little,” Mama says, kissing his forehead. “Before you were overly-adventurous and got stuck in attics and on top of garden sheds.”

Viktor shrugs and Mama laughs.

“Mama!” Viktor remembers, and he shakes her arm excitedly. “Yakov said that if I behaved you would take me to the zoo!”

“Did he, now?” Mama’s eyes sparkle. “I think we could manage that.”

“That sounds like a fun day out,” Mrs. Babicheva says. “Maybe we’ll join you? Mila’s never been.”

“There’s a new dolphin show!” Viktor tells her excitedly.

“Ah, that sounds wonderful!”

Viktor is bouncing in his seat, barely able to contain his excitement. “Can we go tomorrow?”

“How about we take a day to recover from this?” Mama asks, wiping something off of his cheek. “I’m sure you’re going to be sleeping in tomorrow, it’s way past your bedtime.”

Viktor pouts, and Mama tugs his ear.

“Well, you have to keep up your end of the bargain. Behave yourself, and we’ll see about the zoo.”

Viktor groans and slumps on the sofa.

“It won’t be that bad, Vitya,” Mrs. Babicheva says, patting Mila’s back. “All you have to do is be nice and polite.”

“Some old guy told me I ought to cut my hair off,” Viktor mutters. “I don’t wanna be polite to everyone.”

“Sometimes you have to be polite to people that are mean to you,” Mama says sternly. “Being the bigger person is always the better option.”

“Even if they’re stupid-heads?” Viktor mutters in Russian, and Mrs. Babicheva giggles.

Mama frowns. “Whatever you just said, it was probably not polite.”

“It was harmless,” Mrs. Babicheva reassures her.

Mama has a look on her face that says Viktor’s chance of going to the zoo is on very thin ice, so Viktor bows his head and looks contrite.

“Viv, c’mon,” Mrs. Babicheva chides Mama. “Viktor knows better than to be rude to a guest. Don’t you, Vitya?”

Viktor looks between Mama and Mrs. Babicheva and nods.

“You trained him well, Viv,” Mrs. Babicheva says. “Don’t worry.”

 

[ _ now _ ]

 

Mayor Valentina Babicheva could not, in front of the news cameras, shriek in joy and throw her arms around Viktor when he finally gets to her after another solid hour of mingling and playing nice.

She did squeeze him tightly and planted a solid smack of a kiss on his cheek. “God, you look just like Foma,” she said  _ sotto voce _ , in Russian.

Viktor didn’t know whether or not that comment hurt. But it was from a woman he could probably get away with calling “auntie” so he smiled at her, the closest thing he managed to a real expression that night, and nodded in thanks.

Flashbulbs exploded like gunfire around them, and Val squeezed his hand. “It’s good to have you back,” she added, a little louder. The news media began to clamor for them to turn, give them some facetime, and it slid off of Viktor’s ears like water off a duck’s back.

“You ready to do the dance?” he asked.

Val snorted, and accepted a flute of champagne from Yakov. “You know it.”

She turned to the media, the sea of boom mics and camera lenses, and raised her glass. “It’s been a long time since I was a guest in these halls,” she said in her addressing-the-people voice. “And it’s been a long time since I could turn to the man standing beside me and wish him a happy birthday.”

The gathered guests cheered and clapped, and Viktor put on his public face and gave a little bow. The cameras clicked and flashed, and Val went on.

“Gotham wasn’t the same without you, Viktor.” She turned to look at him, and Viktor could see the sincerity in her eyes. “Having you home again is the best holiday gift we all could possibly receive.”

Over her shoulder, Viktor could see Mila muttering to Yuri, and they were both grinning. Viktor was going to have to ask what she was referencing later.

“I know you’re not particularly invested in fate talk, but I like to think that your return is a sign that we are all on an upswing. There are only brighter days ahead of us.”

Someone whooped and set off another round of applause as Val raised her glass, and everyone followed suit.

“I propose a toast,” Val said. “First of all, happy birthday.”

“ _ Happy birthday! _ ” the other guests (and a few members of the press) echoed.

“Thank you for bringing this place back to life,” Val went on. “We missed having a Nikiforov in this town, Viktor. Your family has been part of Gotham for six generations, and believe me when I say that you have always been such an integral piece of this city that your absence was sorely felt. So, as your mayor and as an old friend, I hereby decree that you are not allowed to leave us again.” She waggled her eyebrows, and Viktor laughed, setting off the rest of the assembly. “In all seriousness, a merry Christmas and happy holidays to everyone. Nobody pinch this man, he’s grown all the inches he needs.” She clinked glasses with him, and everyone shouted “cheers!” and drank.

“Pretty short for a mayoral speech,” Viktor murmured to her, and Val rolled her eyes.

“Leave me be, it’s Christmas.” She still hugged him again, and Viktor felt his eyes squeeze shut without conscious effort on his part. Val felt like  _ home _ , just like Yakov and Lilia did. No matter how ragged this city ran her, Val would always be the wittiest and most motherly person in charge. Viktor didn’t much believe in prayer, but he still silently thanked whatever force that was out there for Valentina Babicheva and her family.

After a few more rounds of questions from the newscasters, the party got back into full swing once more. A couple members of the board caught Viktor to wish him a merry Christmas and a happy birthday, and Viktor was properly gracious. He’d been adamant that no one bring him gifts, but a few people who had been friends with his parents - his father’s coworkers from the hospital, his mother’s former rinkmates - had disregarded that to leave him with wrapped presents that he knew he’d have to wait to open; something told him that he’d prefer to be alone when he saw what the packages contained. Yakov dutifully whisked the gifts away, and the party began to wear itself out shortly after midnight.

“So,” Yuri said as the last of the guests departed just before one in the morning. “It’s official. You’re twenty-seven.”

“Well, technically, I was born around seven in the morning,” Viktor answered, and the teen rolled his eyes.

“Fine, you’re still twenty-six. Whatever.” Yuri looked away, arms crossed. He’d lost his jacket some time ago, loosened his tie, and rolled up his sleeves. He still looked like he was itching to change into more comfortable clothes. “Happy birthday, old man.”

Viktor looked at his ward, then clapped him on the shoulder. “Merry Christmas, Yura. Go to bed.”

“Does Yakov need help cleaning up?”

Viktor snorted. “Yakov is going to bed. Lilia will probably handle the cleanup crew.”

Yuri opened his mouth to reply, but instead let out a long yawn.

“Yeah, it’s past your bedtime. Go get some sleep. You can open your Christmas gifts whenever you wake up.”

“You got me gifts?”

Viktor chuckled as he ushered the sleepy teen upstairs. “Later.”

 

[ _ Viktor, age twelve _ ]

 

His parents are still clearly asleep, but Viktor pays no heed as he throws the door open and thunders into the master bedroom. “Happy birthday to meeeee!” he sings loudly, throwing himself onto the bed and bouncing.

His father yelps and his mother grumbles sleepily as he drops down between his parents, giggling wildly.

“Who let this noisy little goblin into our room, Foma?” Mama says blearily.

Papa rubs at his eyes. “Is this Yakov’s idea of a wakeup call?”

“Yakov is still sleeping,” Viktor informs them, unable to contain his grin.

“What  _ time _ is it?” Papa wonders, reaching for his watch on the nightstand.

“Six A.M.” Viktor wriggles again, and Mama wraps her arms around him to quiet him.

“You couldn’t let us sleep another hour?” she asks, but she’s smiling.

“It’s my birthday!” Viktor informs her, even though  _ of course _ she knows that. “And it’s  _ Christmas _ .”

“I suppose we can make our own coffee,” Papa says, flopping back against his pillow. “Hey, Vitya, you’re practically a man now. Are you going to want some?”

“He doesn’t need it, dear,” Mama chides him as she tickles Viktor right under his ribs, making him shriek and squirm.

“Lovely,” Papa says, and pushes the covers back. “I’ll get the coffee started, in any case. Viv?”

“We’ll be right down,” Mama answers, and waves cheerfully at Papa’s retreating back while continuing her tickle assault on Viktor with her other hand. “I hope you like your gift from us this year.”

“Is it new skates?” Viktor demands, evading her hands now that his father’s vacant spot is available.

“Maybe.”

“ _ Mamaaaaa! _ ” he whines, and she too pushes back the covers.

“Only one way to find out,” she tells him as she climbs out of bed.

Viktor rolls off of the bed and dashes out the door while she’s still putting on her robe and slippers.

 

By the time his father comes into the family room with coffee for himself and Mama, Viktor has already made short work of most of the presents marked for him under the tree.

“Viv!” Papa says, making a face. “You couldn’t get him to wait?”

Mama giggles and shakes her head. “Not a chance.”

“Yakov just got up, I’m sure he wants to see.”

Indeed, Yakov himself arrives after Viktor has unearthed a box full of music CD’s, a ton of clothes, several PlayStation games, and other small trinkets. Viktor is disappointed when the last box reveals a ton of Pokemon merch, but nothing else.

“Were you expecting something else, Vitya?” Lilia asks from the wingback nearest the fireplace. She looks amused, and Viktor has known her long enough to not pout in her vicinity.

“Sort of, yes,” he admits.

“I think Yakov can help with that,” Mama says as the butler opens a cabinet above the minibar and pulls out one more package, wrapped in plain brown paper.

Viktor is vibrating with excitement as Yakov places it on the coffee table in front of him and gives him a one-armed hug, a rarity for the old man who rarely shows physical affection. “Happy birthday, Vitya.”

Viktor hugs Yakov back, but he’s only able to hold out for so long before he’s attacking the package with extreme prejudice. Yakov chuckles as he settles in the other chair by the fireplace to watch Viktor unearth a brand-new pair of skates, all shiny and stiff and clean and  _ beautiful _ . Most importantly, they’ll fit his feet since his most recent growth spurt.

Viktor squeals and hugs them to his chest, and Mama snaps a picture with the old Polaroid she had pulled out for the occasion.

“Are you happy?” Papa asks.

Viktor nods excitedly. “So happy! This is gonna be the best year ever!”

 

[ _ now _ ]

 

There was a nip in the air that hadn’t been there the last time Viktor had gone outside. He shoved his hands into his pockets as his breath rose in a mist in front of his face.

Makkachin was off exploring the fenced-in plot of land that Viktor had been studiously avoiding ever since his return home, but on Christmas, on his own  _ birthday _ , he couldn’t put it off anymore.

“Hi Mama,” he said softly, crouching down to touch the gravestone with one hand. “Hi Papa.”

The wind whistled through the various other headstones on the plot, but other than that the manor grounds were silent.

“I’m home,” he added, his voice wavering. “And it’s my birthday, so.”

Makkachin seemed to sense his master’s distress, and slowly crept up to nose at Viktor’s side.

“Meet your grandparents, Makka,” Viktor said, scratching the poodle’s head. “They were… they were really great.”

Makkachin whined and pressed up against Viktor, licking at his chin.

Viktor had to cough, take a few breaths, before he could go on. “I miss them, Makka,” he said, unable to stop the tears that leak from his eyes. “It’s been  _ so long _ .”

He stayed like that for a while longer, until the sound of crunching footsteps behind him alerted him to the presence of another. Eventually, a warm hand touched his shoulder. “Hey,” Chris said, looking down at him with sincere sympathy.

Viktor got to his feet, unable to look Chris in the eye, but his friend still drew him into a tight hug without commenting. “Merry Christmas,” Chris murmured, squeezing him tight. “C’mon, let’s go inside and warm up.”

Viktor nodded, and whistled for Makkachin.

They turned and began to make their way back to the manor, leaving the silent graveyard to the wind and the cold.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more left and y'all know what's coming. Also, I AM SO SORRY. [hides]
> 
> (Anyone want to guess who Leo was texting? Why am I asking, you all know who Leo was texting.)
> 
> Also, Yuri and Mila were referencing the Christmas Incest Coffee commercial from Folgers. You know the one.
> 
> So anyway more original characters, whoo. I might have based Alicia de la Iglesia's opinions of modern art on... my own...? Heh? Look, I'm more of a Romanticist, okay? I blame three years under a pretentious modernist of a professor. You can't come out of art school without encountering one of those.
> 
> Because I don't think I've mentioned it in previous chapters, we named Viktor's parents Foma and Genevieve. Foma is Russian (literally, his name is "Thomas") and Genevieve is French. Aren't they wonderful? I'm going to crawl under a rock and DIE. /yuuri dub voice
> 
> Anyhoodle, [the AU tumblr is hoppin' right now!](http://yoibatmanau.tumblr.com) [We're getting fanart!](https://yoibatmanau.tumblr.com/post/158800072500/i-drew-black-kat-im-sorry-i-dont-know-why-i-am) [I'm so overwhelmed!](https://yoibatmanau.tumblr.com/post/158800155580/i-made-him-sexier-and-added-jj-yes-good-more) [NO, SERIOUSLY, I'M CRYING.](https://yoibatmanau.tumblr.com/post/158813656550/heyyyyy-its-me-again-i-drew-isabella-shes-like)


	5. The Bat

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it's April Fool's day but I SWEAR THIS IS LEGIT. HAPPY BATURDAY. \o/
> 
> Also this chapter contains _That Scene_ , just letting you guys know. It's a short scene, but if you want to skip it, it's the last flashback section.

[ _Viktor, age twenty_ ]

 

Viktor looks up and is shocked when his gaze meets Talia’s. He hasn’t seen her in a few months, not since he suddenly remembered his birthday and sought out some respite.

He shoots her a smile, one she barely returns. Talia has always been more reserved, even around him… but he likes to think he can bring out a more lively girl when they’re together.

“Spar?” he asks, winking at her.

Talia raises her eyebrows, and she climbs into the practice ring.

Viktor has sparred with her before, and knows better than to strike first. He waits, and eventually sees the second she shifts her weight forward on the balls of her feet.

He’s ready for her attack, yet not fast enough. She strikes his solar plexus, right at his core, and he catches her elbow and pushes her away, but she sweeps his feet out from under him and drives her elbow back into his chest, right on his breastbone.

“Don’t go easy on me, idiot,” she coos, and Viktor lets out a breathless laugh.

“Never.”

 

Talia accepts the tea that Viktor offers her and stares into the cup, strangely withdrawn. Viktor still can’t tell what’s changed since the last time they saw each other. He is aware that she’s not going to outright tell him, though.

“Where’ve you been?” he asks instead.

Talia shrugs. “Here and there. I spent some time in China last month.”

“China?”

“You didn’t think Mongolia was the only place we were present, did you?”

“Of course not, but why were you in China when your father is here?” Viktor watches her closely, but she’s not revealing any tells.

“I’m going to Japan,” she finally says. “Father wants me to serve as his proxy there. We’ve set up a post there, in a small seaside town. It’s practically deserted, perfect for training.”

Viktor doesn’t know what to say to that. “Do you need help?” he ventures, but Talia shakes her head.

“Father wants you here, with him,” she tells him. “I think… I think you’ve impressed him.”

Viktor still doesn’t have a response, so he sips at his own tea as he casts around for something - _anything_ \- to say.

“Any other man, upon hearing that, would be elated.” Talia observes him with narrowed eyes. “You could possibly draw the conclusion that he’s grooming you to assume his mantle.”

Viktor doesn’t answer.

The leader of the League of Assassins? Viktor? When he still hesitates to land the killing blow, even in practice? What does Ra’s see in him?

Ridiculous.

Viktor shakes his head. “Say what you will of me, but my ego has never been that massive to draw such conclusions.”

Talia stares at him, her expression unreadable. “I see.”

They sit in silence for a while longer, before Viktor breaks the silence again. “So when are you leaving for Japan?”

“Tonight.”

Viktor sets the tea aside and leans back on his hands. “Maybe I can visit.”

Talia hums noncommittally. “Perhaps.”

 

Years pass, and he never does.

 

[ _now_ ]

 

Yuri dodged Viktor’s strike and accidentally slammed his back into the cave wall, yelping in pain. Viktor smothered his instincts to check on his protege and instead threw the teen over his shoulder, tossing him back onto the mat.

“ _Jesus Christ!_ ” Yuri yelled, kicking out and catching Viktor in the stomach. “What the fuck was that?!”

“You think the Russian mob trains their guys to check on their enemies in a fight?” Viktor demanded, winded. He’d had experience recovering from sucker-punches, though, so he stood upright and prodded Yuri with one socked toe. “Get up.”

“Let me catch my breath.”

“Up, Yura.”

“Fuck you.”

Viktor grabbed Yuri’s arm and hauled the wheezing teen to his feet, letting him get his balance back before letting go. “Again.”

Yuri glared at him before striking out once more, a wild free-throw of a punch that Viktor saw from a mile away. There was a flurry of fists and then Yuri was on his back on the mat once again.

“I hate you,” Yuri grumbled.

“You won’t,” Viktor replied. “I give it a month before you start picking up that I don’t actually want you to die on the streets.”

“I don’t want to die on the streets either!”

“Well good, then you’ll keep practicing.” Viktor offered Yuri a hand up. “Again.”

Yuri batted his hand away and managed to jump back upright. Gymnastics clearly was coming in handy; Yuri would most likely be very proficient at acrobatic fighting as opposed to Viktor’s more solid, boxing-based fighting style. Speed and agility, he made a mental note to start working that into Yuri’s drills. In the meantime, he waited for Yuri to make the first move.

“Is this all you did overseas?” Yuri asked instead, eyeing him balefully.

Viktor blinked. “Somewhat,” he admitted. “I did go to school.”

“And then enrolled in a ninja academy?”

Viktor laughed. “Somewhat.”

“I don’t get it,” Yuri said. “What the hell were you doing?”

“I was learning,” Viktor replied, sinking back into a fighting stance. “And I never really stopped. C’mon, Yura. Again.”

“ _Fine_.”

 

A majority of Nikiforov Enterprises’ employees had been given the week between Christmas Eve and New Year’s Day off as a vacation, but Viktor still found himself in the R&D lab with Mr. de la Iglesia the day after Boxing Day.

“My wife is out visiting family,” he said, “so today is the only day for me to show you this.”

He flipped a switch that illuminated the basement lab, revealing an absolute beauty of a vehicle that had been plucked straight from Viktor’s imagination.

“You know those self-driving cars that everyone’s worried about?” Mr. de la Iglesia asked as Viktor fought not to salivate over his new toy. “I figured out the trick to it, but it’s really only good for short bursts. That, and it involves hacking the city grid to control traffic lights and the like. Still, if you needed to, you could remote-drive it from the central computer I’m finishing up.”

“It’s beautiful,” Viktor choked out, wiping at his eyes.

The car was sleek and low-slung, like an old-fashioned muscle car from Viktor’s childhood. It had a sunken cockpit for a driver’s seat, and room for a single passenger; its doors opened horizontally, looking like menacing wings. The image sparked a memory in Viktor’s mind.

“How’s the speed?” he finally asked.

“There’s a high-octane booster and backup in the engine, good enough to get you past one-sixty miles per hour if timed right.” Mr. de la Iglesia gestured at the rear of the car. “The engine block is built into the front wheels.”

“Amazing!”

“She has stealth capability, but I still need to test it. And she doesn’t look it, but she’s a tank.” Mr. de la Iglesia patted the front wheelwell of the car lovingly. “Merry belated Christmas, Mister Nikiforov.”

“I love it,” Viktor declared. “When can we start testing it?”

“How about after New Year’s? When work starts back up again.”

“Wonderful!” Viktor clapped, and followed Mr. de la Iglesia back to the more insulated lab.

“Grappling hook,” the older man said, gesturing at the display of tools that he’d set out. “Wrist-mounted, plus a gauntlet to keep you from wrenching your hand off. Rappelling gear, just in case. I’ve got some body armor for you to look at, in the next room. Night vision goggles--” he handed Viktor a visor and clicked a remote, plunging the room into darkness. Viktor put the visor up to his eyes and glanced through it, and it was like the room had been illuminated in a dim green light. “They can take a beating,” Mr. de la Iglesia added before switching the lights back on. “I still wouldn’t recommend getting punched in the face with them on.”

“Noted.” Viktor set the goggles aside. “The body armor?”

Mr. de la Iglesia nodded and led the way into the next room.

The prototype suit was gunmetal gray, still smelling of the formative chemicals and materials, and felt stiff, like new boots that had to be broken in. Picking it up and examining it made Viktor feel like a kid on Christmas morning.

He’d examine that feeling later.

“It’ll stop knives and most common caliber gunfire, but armor-piercing rounds are still a problem,” Mr. de la Iglesia said.

“I figured,” Viktor chuckled as he turned over the chestplate to peer inside.

“We started with kevlar and kept updating it. Never quite got these into production,” Mr. de la Iglesia scratched at his chin, his mouth twisted into a frown. “They tend to be costly and the army wasn’t interested in that.”

“How costly?”

“Couple thousand a pop.”

Viktor whistled. “I’d better take care of this one, then.” He looked up, eyebrows raised. “And I’ll need a smaller one at some point. Not soon, but eventually.”

Mr. de la Iglesia narrowed his eyes. “The kid?”

“If I told him no, he’d go out in sweats to fight crime.”

Mr. de la Iglesia sighed. “Very well.” He jotted down a note on a nearby notepad and stuck it on what Viktor presumed was his own desk.

“Thank you very much for your assistance,” Viktor added sincerely.

“Well.” Mr. de la Iglesia looked back at him, a small smile playing on his lips. “Thank you for the challenge.”

 

Viktor let Mr. de la Iglesia go after they’d paged through a few more specs, talked over a few more plans, and then locked up the lab. He slid into the least-flashiest car that he owned, a sedate Audi in boring silver-gray, and made his way out of the city.

Instead of taking the tollway that would have deposited him right outside the Manor’s grounds, Viktor turned east and drove along the lakeshore.

It was a gray sky over the lake, a heaviness to the air that threatened bitter rain. Viktor hadn’t gotten his white Christmas in the end, and having such unseasonably warm weather this close to New Year’s Eve felt disgusting and wrong.

The lake whizzed by to his left, the color of steel and slapping sluggishly at the land. It was like Gotham was still sleeping under the oppressive sky, recovering from Christmas day. There weren’t that many other cars on the road besides his own, and even the taxis and busses were scarce.

A sudden gust of wind off the lake buffeted his car, but he only tightened his grip on the steering wheel and drove on. His eyes flicked to the right, and something outside the passenger’s window caught his gaze.

The old Ice Castle Gotham sign flashed past, and he forced himself to look ahead and focus on the road in front of him.

 _I shouldn’t have come this way,_ he thought, chiding himself. _I’m not ready._ _Stupid!_

He got off Lake Shore Drive and cut through the city, and within ten minutes he was on the tollway out of the city and heading home without sparing a glance behind him.

 

[ _Viktor, age twelve_ ]

 

Viktor blinks awake as he hears the door creak open, and his father steps into his bedroom.

“Vitya, you can’t sleep the day away,” Papa says cheerily. He sits down on Viktor’s bed and pokes Viktor’s foot under the covers. “I for one won’t allow it.”

Viktor pouts at his father and pulls the covers up over her nose. He’d gone skating with Mama the day before, and while his newest routine is coming along nicely, the constant training is starting to wear on him. His tutor recommended a day of rest, and Viktor was happy to take that advice.

“Let’s take a day,” Papa says, patting Viktor’s sore knee. “Just you and me.”

“And do what?” Viktor mumbles, shuffling deeper under his blankets.

“Get dressed and find out.” Papa suddenly flips the covers off of him and Viktor yelps as the cold air of early spring assaults his bare legs.

Papa is laughing openly when he leaves Viktor to scramble for day clothes, but not before he whips the curtains open and lets the sun stream in. Viktor whines and hides his face, fumbling blindly for the dresser as his eyes adjust to the sudden light.

Ten minutes later, he’s managed to make himself look presentable in clean tan corduroys and a light sweater as he shuffles out of his bedroom and down the hallway.

Mama is at the kitchen table, still in her bathrobe and nightgown, and she raises her eyebrows as he stumbles in. “You look chipper,” she says as Viktor drags a chair out and drops into it to pull on his socks.

Viktor grumbles something that not even he understands, and Yakov puts a plate down in front of him, followed by an egg sunny-side-up, a few strips of bacon, and some buttered toast with a slice of tomato.

“Cheer up, Vitya,” Yakov says, ruffling Viktor’s hair. “Today will be fun.”

“Do you know what he’s planning?” Viktor asks Mama, who smiles mysteriously.

“I haven’t got a clue,” she answers. “But knowing your Papa, it will be fun.”

“Why does it have to be so _early_ ,” Viktor whines. His petulant expression earns him a tap on the head from Yakov and open laughter from Mama.

“Because the early bird gets the early worm!” Papa sings as he skips in, also dressed for a day out. “Bring a jacket, Vitya. It might be chilly out.”

Viktor, his mouth full of toast and egg, rolls his eyes at his father.

“Darling,” Mama says, catching Papa’s arm. “Be sure to be back before dinner. I want Viktor going to bed early tonight.”

Viktor whines again, letting his forehead drop onto the table. Going to bed early means Mama’s going to take him out running in the morning. He’s never liked running.

“This is what happens when your own mother coaches you,” Yakov murmurs to him, patting his shoulder. “Now finish your eggs.”

 

The elevated train is bustling when Viktor and Papa step onto it. The Red Line has both straps dangling from the ceiling and poles every few feet for standing passengers to hold onto, if the seats are all taken.

The car is shiny and new, as are all the others that the GPT replaced thanks to a grant from Nikiforov Enterprises. It’s nice, considering that Viktor has heard horror stories from rinkmates who have gotten onto a train only to find substances on the ground that no one wants to identify or really touch in order to clean up. It’s a vain hope to pray that the cars stay shiny and clean, but for now it’s a wonderful sight.

Papa takes hold of one of the overhead straps and gestures to an elderly couple to take the last open seats. They’re openly staring at him in recognition, and the wife pats Papa’s arm in thanks and smiles, waving to Viktor. Viktor waves back, a little shyly.

Papa puts his arm around Viktor’s shoulders and tugs him close as the train lurches away from the platform, causing the floor to shake, and Viktor clenches his hand in Papa’s coat.

Outside, Gotham slowly blurs past the window. Viktor catches sight of many familiar buildings, watches the university students outside the Southern Gotham U campus as they run to and from classes. Under the elevated tracks, taxis and cars battle for the road. A cyclist dodges between vehicles and pedestrians, and then the train takes a turn and veers towards the lake, and Viktor loses sight of the road.

“Where are we going?” he asks Papa in Russian.

Papa taps his lips and refuses to answer.

“ _Papa_ ,” Viktor begs, tugging his father’s coat.

“I need your help today, Vitya,” Papa says instead. “We have a very important mission.”

Viktor frowns. “A mission?”

“You remember what next week is, don’t you?”

Of course Viktor remembers his parents’ anniversary. It’s all Mama can talk about; apparently fifteen is an important number to her.

“Good,” Papa says mysteriously. He doesn’t answer any other questions until they reach their stop, which lets out a few blocks away from Lake Shore Drive.

Viktor looks questioningly at his father, who leads the way towards the strip of shops along the cosmopolitan street and eventually ducks into a small shop with dim lighting.

It’s a jewelry store. Viktor blinks as his father goes straight to the counter, where an elderly woman is waiting with a patient smile on her face. “Irina!”

“Good morning, Foma. This is your boy?”

Papa beckons Viktor forward, and the woman holds out her hand for Viktor to shake. “Viktor, this is Irina. She helped me pick out your mother’s engagement ring.”

Viktor accepts Irina’s handshake and glances questioningly up at his father. “Are you getting another one?”

Papa laughs like he’s been startled, and Irina hides her smile behind her hand.

“Oh, not a ring,” Papa tells him. “This time, I was thinking maybe a bracelet for your mother, for our anniversary. Or earrings.”

“But she has lots of those!” Viktor points out.

“Then it’s a good thing I brought you along,” Papa replies. “What do you think Mama needs more of?”

Viktor thinks about it. “Maybe a necklace?” he says eventually.

Papa’s face lights up, and he throws his arms around Viktor’s shoulders. “Genius! My son is a genius!”

Viktor beams as Irina disappears under the counter to fetch a selection for them to peruse.

“I cannot believe how alike he looks to you,” Irina says, her accent softening her words. She gently removes a display piece with a necklace draped around it. “All right, young Mister Nikiforov, how is this?”

Viktor peers at the necklace, a gold netted piece dotted with diamonds. It’s pretty, but it doesn’t feel right. “Papa?”

Papa shakes his head. “Mama does prefer silver.”

“Very good!” Irina chirps, pulling out several silver pieces and replacing the gold one.

Viktor isn’t particularly taken by any of these either.

“Something more classical, perhaps?” Irina ventures, disappearing into the backroom.

Papa fiddles with one of the necklaces left behind, and Viktor peers at a display of rings. A pair of plain gold ones glint in the light, beautiful in their simplicity. He’s contemplating his parents’ own wedding bands when Irina comes back, and one look at the necklace in her hands has him grabbing his father’s arm and shaking.

“Oh,” Papa says when Irina presents the string of pearls to him. “Oh, my. Where have you been keeping this, Irina?”

The shop owner beams as Viktor examines the necklace, his heart fluttering in his chest. The clasp is a simple twist, and the pearls are smaller than his pinky nail, but the very center of the string is interrupted by a small silver charm, a small open heart dotted with the tiniest of gemstones. It’s subtle and unassuming, and Viktor loves it instantly.

“I think we found it,” Papa says, and pulls his wallet from his coat pocket.

 

[ _now_ ]

 

“You need a name,” Yuri said as he continued to drill on the training dummy. “A proper superhero name like the Gray Ghost.”

“Animal names seem to be in vogue,” Viktor replied. He bit at his thumbnail, ignoring the pain when he chewed too close to a nerve.

“What, like Black Kat and the Penguin?”

“Exactly.”

Yuri grumbled. “I wanted a cat name.”

“Figures,” Viktor said, but shot the teen a sunny smile to soften the blow. “But I’m willing to bet that if you debut as some kind of cat-themed vigilante, the media will be sure to brand you as a fellow criminal.”

“It’s not cats’ fault that they’re misunderstood,” Yuri muttered, punching the dummy extra hard for emphasis.

“Indeed,” Viktor agreed. The sound of fluttering wings overhead made him pause, and both of them looked up at the ceiling, where a single bat flapped around, trying to find an exit.

“Ew,” Yuri said, as Viktor got up out of his seat to grab a net. “No, don’t touch it, it might have rabies!”

“Don’t be such a baby,” Viktor shot back at the teen. “It’s just a bat.”

“Says the guy who got freaked out when we found a whole nest of them,” Yuri snapped.

“They surprised me!”

“Lilia said you were scared of bats as a kid!”

“I was,” Viktor said as he tossed the net, ensnaring the poor animal. He carefully bundled the struggling creature up and made his way further into the cave to set it free. “I outgrew that.”

“Don’t deny that they’re creepy!” Yuri yelled after him.

Viktor threw a meaningless gesture over his shoulder and kept walking. Eventually, only the sound of the squeaking bat in the net accompanied his footsteps in the less-finished part of the catacombs.

“What a spot of rotten luck for you,” he told the bat. “I thought you were supposed to have excellent instincts.”

The bat struggled in its bonds, and Viktor held the squirming bundle away from him.

“You’re such a tiny thing,” he scoffed. “Why are you so frightening?”

He stopped in his tracks as what he’d just said cut through his musing.

“I bet I’m not the only tough guy to have been afraid of you,” he told the bat, untangling it from the net and tossing it into the air, where it fled out to the mouth of the cave.

Viktor gathered up the net, then ran back to the main segment of the catacombs, bursting with excitement.

 

“Batman,” Yakov said, his expression blank. “That’s what you’re settling on.”

Viktor beamed at the butler, who sighed. “I suppose that may strike fear into the hearts of criminals if you use it properly.”

“Oh, I know exactly how to do that,” Viktor replied. “I think Batman’s debut needs some planning, though.”

“If I may,” Lilia interrupted. “Ms. Okukawa sent an email asking if you would in fact be attending the New Year’s Eve gala and participating in the bachelor auction. Shall I respond in the affirmative?”

Viktor considered refusing, maybe spending the evening and all those others working, but Yakov spoke before he could even open his mouth. “He’s going.”

“I am?” Viktor asked, raising an eyebrow.

“If you’re going to allay suspicion using a playboy socialite persona, you’ll have to go to these things.” Yakov gestured at his ex-wife, who made a face at him. “Besides, heaven forbid you actually have some fun.”

Viktor sighed, then shrugged. “Very well. Lilia, love of Yakov’s life--” Yakov sputtered and Lilia’s face spasmed, “--go ahead and let Ms. Okukawa know I’ll be there.”

“Ugh,” Yuri muttered from the kitchen counter, where he was munching on gingersnaps.

“Yura, why don’t you go with him?” Yakov said, his eyes taking on a sly glint. “Keep him on his best behavior.”

“Miss Babicheva will be there as well,” Lilia added.

“Nope,” Yuri answered, sliding off the barstool and retreating from the kitchen with his snacks. “I refuse.”

“Oh, if I have to go, I refuse to go alone!” Viktor yelled after him. He glanced back at Yakov and Lilia, grinning. “He’ll come around.”

 

[ _Viktor, age twelve_ ]

 

For their anniversary, Papa surprises Yakov with the night off, surprises Mama with the pearl necklace, and surprises Viktor with tickets to see the ice show being put on at Ice Castle Gotham.

The ice show is beautiful. Viktor is entranced by the performers, and finds himself idly daydreaming of the time when he’ll be _that good_. Mama points out former rinkmates and competitors that she had known during her competing days, and muses that she ought to meet up with them while they are in town. Together, they ooh and ah at the dazzling costumes and the graceful dancing, and Viktor doesn’t even feel the biting chill of the rink.

As the show lets out, they exit the stadium through one of the back entrances and make their way down the alleyway behind the Ice Castle. Papa parked the car a little bit further away because the parking lot near the stadium was packed, and it was too nice a night to fret about a little jaunt outdoor.

Viktor can’t stop babbling, about the costumes, the skill, the beauty of the skaters; he babbles about the moves he wants to try now, how determined he is to land triples and quads now, and Mama is laughing at something Papa said.

That’s when the man steps out of the shadows.

He looks like a ghost, Viktor thinks as Papa draws him back, behind him. Mama’s hand is a vice on his shoulder. A ghost with dead, burning eyes like embers.

The man pulls his hand out of his coat, holds it in front of him. Only then does Viktor notice the gun.

“Wallet,” the man says in a thin voice, his eyes fixed on Papa. “And jewelry. Now.”

“Of course,” Papa says, moving slowly. He reaches into his jacket pocket, clearly telegraphing his every move, as he withdraws his wallet. Viktor can see that his hands are shaking.

Mama is breathing hard next to Viktor’s ear, and Viktor for once feels very, very still.

Papa shows the man his wallet and then tosses it, and the man catches it.

“Please,” Papa says. “Please let us go.”

“Jewelry!” the man snaps, turning his gun on Mama.

Mama slowly reaches up and behind her head, slowly unclasps the pearl necklace that Viktor and Papa had picked out for her a week ago, and Viktor can see tears streaming down her face in the streetlights.

“Now!” the man barks, and Mama flinches.

“She’s doing as you asked--” Papa starts to say, but--

But the man whirls on Papa, and the gun goes off.

Mama screams and the strand breaks, shattering the necklace and scattering pearls everywhere, and the gun goes off again.

Viktor stands, frozen, as the man stares at him, barrel pointed right at his face. Distantly, he can hear the rustling sounds of bodies falling, of pained breathing and fright.

The man’s eyes meet his, and something in him breaks as the man turns on his heel and runs, clutching Papa’s wallet to his chest.

That’s when Viktor realizes what’s happened.

“ _Mama!_ ” He falls to his knees, trying to wake her up, but her eyes are open and glassy and empty like those of the old paintings hanging in the drawing room, and Viktor can’t rouse her. Tears spill down his cheeks, but nothing happens.

“ _Vitya--_ ”

He scrambles to his father’s side, and Papa’s face is clenched in pain. “Vitya, _moy mal'chik_ \--” he gasps, clutching at Viktor’s arm. “Vitya, _ty dolzhen byt' sil'nym_ \--”

“Don’t leave me,” Viktor pleads, his voice small and frightened. “Please don’t leave me.”

“Be strong,” Papa whispers before he stops breathing.

 

[ _now_ ]

 

Viktor stared at himself in the full-length mirror, and there was a brief moment where he didn’t recognize himself.

“I know you’ll get tired of hearing this,” Yakov said, adjusting Viktor’s bowtie, “but you look so much like your father. Especially dressed like this.”

“Except my eyes,” Viktor finished softly. “Right?”

Yakov sighed, and then draw Viktor into a tight hug. “I’m sorry. I’ll stop saying it.”

“No, don’t worry about it,” Viktor answered, but he still embraced the old man back. “It’s proof that they’re still here, in me. I guess.”

“You embody the best of them,” Yakov said gruffly. “And some of their worst, but that’s what makes you _you_.”

Viktor smiled, a shaky smile, and patted Yakov on the back before they drew apart.

“Are you ready?” Yuri drawled from the doorway, his face drawn into a sullen pout. Viktor had talked him into attending the gala with him in the hopes that he’d have fun with Mila again, and Lilia had spent the afternoon wrangling the teen into a tux.

“Yep!” Viktor grinned as he shrugged the suit jacket on and fixed his hair one last time.

“Have fun tonight,” Yakov told him. “Honest, true fun. You’ll be working plenty hard in the next few months at the least.”

Viktor nodded, and with Yuri at his side, they made their way down the hallway and through the house.

“This is gonna be so boring,” Yuri muttered, and Viktor frowned.

“I don’t think so,” he answered, and Yuri scoffed at him.

“What makes you think that?”

Viktor tapped his chin. “I’ve just got a feeling,” he answered, ignoring Yuri’s contemptuous eyeroll and derisive noises.

They climbed into Viktor’s favorite car, his father’s old beloved Lexus, and then they were off into the waiting night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You thought this would include the auction? APRIL FOOLS! Actually, I always planned to have the auction in a separate fic so... that's coming next. (◍˃̶♡˂̶◍)ﾉ”
> 
> (oh god please don't throw things at me)
> 
> Foma's last words to Viktor are "Vitya, my boy, you must be strong." [hides] I'm so sorry.
> 
> Anyway, that was fun. I love writing tragedies. No, wait, that's a lie. ONTO THE SHENANIGANS. IT'S TIME THINGS GOT HAPPY. HAPPY, DAMMIT.
> 
> As always, come and talk to us at [the official AU tumblr!](http://yoibatmanau.tumblr.com) We're getting fanart! And I'm always in the mood to talk meta! ^♡^


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